


Maybe It's Magic, Maybe It's You

by LonelyThursday



Series: Magic Newsies [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Established Relationship, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Modified Harry Potter AU, but with magic, follows the plot of the musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyThursday/pseuds/LonelyThursday
Summary: The muggles of New York are abused by the wizards in power, but they're not going to stand for it anymore.It's Newsies! but they have magic, and it takes place in a modified HP AU that I've detailed in the first fic, but you don't really have to read that if you don't want to.





	1. Carrying The Banner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a normal morning for the newsies  
(Santa Fe Prologue through the end of Carrying The Banner)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two important notes to start out with:  
1). to 'cock a snook' is, according to google, the term refering to when you put your thumb to your nose with your fingers sticking out (in your classic 'neener neener' face that Jack gives to Jacobi after the newsie launch their strike).  
2). the Delanceys are squibs (or mundanes as they will be called in this fic)

Jack’s awoken by a shifting next to him. He tightens his arms in an attempt to stifle the movement, it’s too early to be up. 

“Jack,” Crutchie whispers, still trying to wiggle out of Jack’s hold. “Lemme go.”

“Where ya goin’?” Jack murmurs without opening his eyes. “Mornin’ bell ain’t rung yet. Go back ta sleep.”

Crutchie continues to wiggle, hoping Jack will let him go eventually. Instead, Jack tightens his hold even more and rolls onto his back, pulling Crutchie on top of him. Crutchie sighs and goes limp. 

“I wanna beat the other fellas ta the street.” He explains. “I don’t want anyone should see I uh… I ain’t been walking so good.”

Crutchie isn’t sure how Jack will react to this confession, Jack is pretty protective, and if he thinks Crutchie’s leg is bothering him too badly then he’ll try to make him sit out from selling today. Jack finally opens his eyes, his gaze is soft, and he presses a gentle kiss into Crutchie’s cheek, but he doesn’t say anything about keeping Crutchie from selling so he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Now be a pal, Jack, lemme up.” Crutchie gives one final wiggle for emphasis. Jack groans, but he lets his arms fall to his sides, freeing Crutchie from his grip. 

Crutchie rolls off of Jack and begins pulling his clothes on, then he searches around his and Jack’s sleeping area to see where his crutch went. When he turns back to Jack he sees that the older boy has his arms folded behind his head and is watching him with a smirk. 

“What?”

“Jus’ enjoyin’ the view.” Jack drawls lazily. Crutchie rolls his eyes. 

“You’re crazy.”

“What? I’ve got the mornin’ sky, the last a the mornin’ stars, and the cutest boy ta ever walk the earth, what more could a fella ask for?” Jack gives Crutchie an honest smile, but the question forms a pit in Crutchie’s gut. 

“Santa Fe.” He mutters quietly, almost worried that if Jack is reminded of his dream then he’ll forget about Crutchie. 

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, unknowingly deepening the pit in Crutchie’s gut. Jack stands and wraps an arm around Crutchie’s shoulders, gesturing into the distance as though if they looked hard enough, they’d be able to_ see_ Santa Fe from here. “You, me, and Santa Fe… _that_ would be perfect.”

Crutchie startles at that. “Me?”

“‘Course, kid.” Jack gives him a fond look, but seems to catch on to the fear in Crutchie’s eyes. “Look, no one cares ‘bout no gimp leg in Santa Fe! You just hop a palomino! You ride it in _style.”_

Jack mimes riding a horse and Crutchie laughs, Jack may have misinterpreted the reason for Crutchie’s fears, but that didn’t stop him from trying - and succeeding - to make the younger boy feel better. “Yeah picture me _riding in style.”_

“Hey, I’ll bet a few months of clean air and _you, _you could toss that crutch for good!” 

Crutchie smiles for a second, losing himself in Jack’s perfect fantasy… but then his leg gives a particularly painful twinge, and he’s brought back to reality. To New York, where he’s a crippled orphan, a muggle struggling to survive from day to day on mere pennies. Where he needs to hide his love for the boy in front of him in fear of what unaccepting nomajs, and even some more close-minded wizards, will do to them if they see. Jack’s fantasy is amazing, but it’s just that… a fantasy. 

“That ain’t how it works, Jack.” Crutchie visibly deflates, and Jack rushes over to comfort him. 

“Hey, don’tcha know that we’se in this together? And would I let ya down? Huh?” Crutchie shakes his head slightly. Jack would never let him down. _Could_ never let him down. “No way. Just hold on kid, one day we’ll be on that train bound for Santa Fe.”

Jack and Crutchie stay like that for a moment, looking out over the New York streets, Jack imagining making his way to Santa Fe, Crutchie by his side, and Crutchie just focusing on the warmth of Jack’s arm around him, trying not to put too much faith in a dream. Their reprieve is interrupted, as it always will be, by the real world, currently being represented by the morning bell that tells them to get up. Tells them to get to work. 

“The time for dreamin’s done.” Jack sighs, before calling out loudly as he pulls his shirt on and begins to button it up. “Hey Specs! Racer, Henry, Albert, Elmer! Get a move on! Them papes don’t sell themselves.”

Crutchie sighs. Another day, another dollar… if he’s _lucky._

“Hey Albert, Elmer, Specs! You heard Jack, get a move on.” Race begins his morning routine of waking the other up while he tugs his shirt on. Once he’s got the sleeves on he grabs his cigar and hops off his bunk above Albert’s. 

“I was havin’ the most beautiful dream! My lips are still tinglin’!” Albert laments, climbing out of his own bunk. 

“Oh, a pretty goil?” Race teases as he continues to button his shirt up, cigar dangling from his lips, knowing full well that Albert hadn’t been dreaming about a girl. 

“A leg of lamb.” Albert deadpans with a straight face. 

“Oh yeah?” Race waggles his eyebrows suggestively, leaning forward a little.

“Yep.” Albert’s voice is still deadpan, but he’s smirking, just a little bit. Suddenly, Albert surges forward and yanks the cigar out of Race’s mouth, twirling it between his fingers as he backs out of the taller boy’s reach. 

“Hey! That’s my cigar!” Race lunges after him, making a desperate grab for his cigar, but Albert dodges him. 

“You’ll steal another.” He laughs, dodging Race a second time. 

“Hey look!” Specs points at Henry with one arm as he wraps the other around Race’s shoulder to keep him and Albert from bumping into people. “It’s bath time at the zoo.”

“Ain’t ya clean enough already?” Albert raises an eyebrow at Henry, who’s emerged from the washroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist and no shirt on. 

“I thought that I’d surprise my mother.” Henry explains while smearing more shaving cream onto his face.

“If you can _find_ her.” Albert rolls his eyes. 

“Who asked you!?” Henry smears some of his shaving cream onto Albert’s face in retaliation before returning to the washroom in a huff. Specs follows after him, possibly to shave his own face, and Finch takes his place next to Race.

“Papes ain’t movin’ like they used to, I think I need a new sellin’ spot, any ideas?” Albert asks Race and Finch as he wipes the cream on his cheek with a rag. 

Race snatches his cigar back and twirls it in his fingers for a moment before bringing it to his mouth, only to find his teeth clamping down on the hard end of a pen. _Dammit, not again._

“I don’t think ya spot is the problem.” Finch answers. “I think ya problem is ya face.”

Race snorts at the indignant look on Albert’s face before he pulls the redhead close. 

“From bottle alley ta the harbor,” he tells him. “Is _easy_ pickin’s, guaranteed.”

“Try any banker, bum, or barber,” Finch says slowly, condescendingly. “They almost _all_ knows how ta read.”

Albert whacks Finch with his rag, but Finch responds with a perfectly aimed pillow to the face. Race huffs a laugh before turning his attention to the pen in his hand, trying to _will_ it back into a cigar. It doesn’t work, it never does. 

“Break it up, boys.” Jack climbs through the open window, Crutchie close behind him, and places himself between Albert and Finch to stop their bickering. 

By now, everyone is awake and busy getting ready for a long, hot day of selling on the unforgiving streets of Manhattan. Clothes are flying as the boys toss hats and vests around the room looking for their own. Wads of paper are flying around too, as Sniper and Finch take the chaos as an invitation to beam people in the head. 

“Where’s my hat?” Kid Blink calls out, back turned to the room as he searches his bed for his missing hat. Finch picks it up off the floor and throws it at him, hoping to finally hit him without Blink catching it. Unfortunately for Finch, Blink’s left hand shoots out behind him and snatched the hat out of the air before it can hit him in the back of the head. “Thanks Finch!”

Finch grumbles to himself as he moves on to find a new target. 

“I can’t find my vest!” Elmer calls frantically, tearing his and Jojo’s bunk apart. “Guys, have you seen my-“

“Calm down, Elly.” Buttons calls calmly from his own bunk where he’s got Elmer’s vest in his lap. “It has a tear, I’se almost done.”

“You’se the _best,_ Buttons!” Elmer praises as he plops himself down next to Buttons.

“I know.” Buttons never looks up from his sewing, but his smile widens a little. 

“Good _mornin’, _Specs! You’se lookin’ lovely today.” Romeo hands Specs a single rose. “And _you,_ Tommy Boy, look like you’se been hit by the trolley last night.”

Romeo throws a daisy at Tommy Boy as he simultaneously dodges the dirty shirt aimed for his face. Romeo continues around the room, conjuring a variety of flowers and handing them out with a plethora of “complements”, most are not accepted well.

“Has anyone seen my suspenders?” Ike calls out. “I can’t-“

“-Find my suspenders!” Mike finishes. 

“They’se under ya bunk!” Ike answers him, much to the confusion of everyone else, but they mostly let it go, it’s just Mike and Ike being Mike and Ike.

“Done!” Buttons proclaims, holding up Elmer’s perfectly mended vest. Elmer accepting the vest seems to signal the end of the boys getting dressed, as everyone starts filing out of the lodge and into the street below. 

“Well hello hello _hello,_ beautiful.” Romeo pulls a purple iris out from behind his back and offers it to a pretty young woman who had the misfortune of walking past the newsies’ lodging house as they were leaving for the day. Jack is quick to put himself between the woman, her friend, and Romeo before the two - clearly fully trained wizards - could find some offense in Romeo's actions. Romeo has a habit of flirting with every woman who walks past without seeming to realize that there could be consequences, especially when that woman is accompanied by a man who could take offense at Romeo’s bid for his date’s attention. 

“Whoa, step aside, Romeo, nothing what concerns you here.” Jack easily divert attention towards himself, but never let it be said that Jack Kelly knows when to quit. “Mornin’ miss, can I interest you in the _latest_ news?”

“The paper isn’t out yet.” She informs him shortly, as if _he, _of all people, doesn’t know that the paper isn’t out yet. 

“Oh I would be delighted to deliver it to you, _personally.”_ As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Jack can tell that he went a step too far as the man takes an imposing step towards him. By himself, the man isn’t that threatening, but Jack knows that this man is a wizard, and that he probably knows that Jack himself is at least a muggle, so Jack is prepared for whatever hex is about to be sent his way, but the woman stops her companion with a hand, then turns to face Jack more fully. Jack is still prepared for a hex, but all he gets is a sassy reply. 

“I’ve got a headline for you: ‘Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing For His Troubles’.” She gestured with her hand, as if she can see the headline in the air in front of her. He’s grateful that she’s letting him off easy, he doubts her friend would have done the same. The other boys are quick to tease him for his failure - though they all know that he’s not disappointed - to charm the woman as she and her friend walk away.

“Hit the bench, slugger.” Romeo tells him, throwing the unaccepted iris at him. “You struck out!”

“I’m _crushed!”_ Jack yells dramatically, mostly for the benefit of the two retreating wizards, before turning to Crutchie to make sure that they’re good. Crutchie smiles at him, and Jack knows that he understood why Jack did what he did.

“Hey Crutchie!” Finch breaks the moment. “What’s your leg say? Gonna rain?”

Crutchie rolls his eyes, it’s not like his leg knows the weather, but no one ever seems to listen to him when he points this out, probably because he _does_ always know the weather. 

“No rain,” Crutchie makes a face and shifts his leg, pretending to be reviving information from the twisted limb. “Oh ho! Partly cloudy, clear by evenin’.”

“They oughta bottle this guy!” Finch proclaims. 

“Yeah, and the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself.” Race agrees. 

“I don’t need the limp ta sell papes!” Crutchie glares at Race. “I’ve got _personality,_ which is more than _you_ can say.”

“Oh he’s got a personality alright!” Albert objects. “The only problem is that it ain’t a good one.”

Race throws his pen at Albert, except that his pen has turned back into a cigar, so he’s basically just _given_ Albert his cigar. 

“It takes a smile that spreads like butter,” Crutchie explains for his small audience. “The kind that turns a lady’s head.”

“It takes an orphan with a stutter.” Race disagrees, grabbing Buttons’ jaw for emphasis. 

“Who’s also blind.” Finch covers Button’s eyes. 

“And mute.” Albert covers Buttons’ mouth. 

“And _dead!”_ Elmer uses Buttons’ shoulders to boost his own jump. Buttons turns around to whack Elmer with his hat, and Race takes off after Albert to get his cigar back again. 

“Hey Jack,” Crutchie calls, not quite sure where Jack went, but the older boy is by his side in moments. “Can ya tie my shoe for me?”

Jack sits on the ground to tie Crutchie’s shoe, while Crutchie watches Mush and Romeo sword fight with sticks that they must have found lying around. When Jack is finished he places an exaggerated kiss on the side of Crutchie’s boot, which is the most forward either of them will be in the middle of the street, even if it _is_ too early for most people to be up. 

Mush almost manages to knock Romeo’s stick out of his hands, but then something hits him in the back of the neck. Spinning around, he expects to see Finch or Sniper, but instead he sees Crutchie holding Finch’s slingshot. As he’s about to charge to offender, something crashes into his back causing him to sprawl out on the ground. 

“Ha!” He hears Race yell, and he realizes that Albert is what crashed into him. Race is standing over Albert, who is lying inches away from Mush, holding his cigar aloft. “Gotcha!”

“What’s the hold up?” Finch yells after retrieving his slingshot from Crutchie. “Waitin’ makes me antsy!”

“Keep ya shirt on, we’se jus’ waitin’ for the nuns.” Smalls chides. As if waiting for a queue, the nuns appear on the church balcony to hand out curdled coffee and moldy doughnuts to the waiting newsies. “Speak a the devil. OW!”

Jojo whacks Smalls on the back of the head as he heads towards the promise of food and hisses “show some _respect.”_

“It’s too early for respect.” Smalls mutters to no one in particular before he helps Blink lift Crutchie up so that the gimp can reach the cups that the nuns are passing out.

“Bless the children! Though you wander lost and depraved, Jesus loves you, you shall be saved.” The nuns say, as they do every day. Smalls isn’t sure why they say it, but he doesn’t care enough to ask.

“Thank for the grub, sistah!” Elmer calls out, shoving a stale doughnut into his mouth.

“Elmer!” Sister Elizabeth turns her attention on Elmer. “When are we going to see you _inside_ the church?”

“I don’t know, sistah, but it’s bound to rain sooner or later.” Elmer replies cheerfully, not seeming to understand what Sister Elizabeth had been trying to say.

“Mmm, curdled coffee and concrete doughnuts sprinkled with mold.” Race snarks, though he knows this is the best he can ask for for free.

“Don’t forget the biscuits.” Jack mutters.

“Homemade!” Race agrees in a faux-perky voice. “They’re just two years old!”

“Just give me half a cup.” Elmer moans into his coffee.

“It’s something to wake me up.” Henry agrees.

“I gotta find an angle.” Smalls complains to no one in particular.

“It’s gettin’ bad out there.” Tommy Boy says in reference to the temperature.

“It’s eighty-eight degrees.” Specs tells him.

“Papers is all I got.” Mush laments before Blink elbows him sharply in the side. Mush winks in return. 

“Jack says to change my spot.” Jojo tells Finch

“Maybe it’s worth a shot.” Finch answers.

“Wish I could catch a breeze.” Albert complains.

“All I can catch is fleas.” Buttons replies while scratching his head.

“What do you think the headline will be today, boys?” Jack yells over all the chatter.

“An earthquake!” Sniper yells.

“Or a war!” Romeo offers, giddier about the prospect than is really decent, but that’s just the way it is for them.

“How ‘bout a crooked politician?” Elmer suggests, only to have the other boys yell “you nitwit” or “that ain’t news no more”. Smalls, Romeo, and Mush even go to the effort of hitting him with their caps.

The rest of the walk to newsies square is filled with more and more outlandish ideas for what the headline will be. One suggestion is that the headline will be about a pistol packing floozy, another is that the entirety of Queens was engulfed in a fire. Neither of which are very likely, but either one would make a newsie’s day. 

“Hey look!” Finch yells when they reach the circulation gate. “They’se puttin’ up the headline!”

“I hope it’s _real_ bloody with a nice, clear picture!” Specs exclaims as Smalls squeezes through the bars and into the square to get a closer look, everyone else merely sticks their heads through, unable to squeeze through like Smalls can. 

“Yeah!” Everyone agrees, watching the board that will display the nomaj headline intently.

_Trolly Strike Enters 3rd week_

Everyone groans.

“What!?”

“The trolley strike?” Exclaims Elmer. “Not again.”

“Man, three weeks a the same story!” Race jabs his cigar towards the board.

“They’se killin’ us wit’ that snoozer!” Finch complains loudly.

“Small, what’s the other headline?” Jack asks. The headline of _The Wizard World_ is always written above the gate so that the only ones who can see it are the people _in_ the square.

Smalls groans. “It says: _New Floo Regulations To Be Enacted Next Month.”_

Everyone groans again. Two papers, two lousy headlines.

“It’s like they don’t even _want_ their papes ta sell!” Albert kicks the still locked gate.

“Hey, make way! Hey, step aside!” Morris Delancey falls out as he and his brother come to unlock the gate and let the newsies in. Romeo waves at Oscar as the short Delancey brother grabs the lock, but is ignored. “Get out, shorty! You gotta wait like everyone else.”

He kicks Smalls leg and Smalls climbs back through the bars, cocking a snook at the brothers as he goes. Sniper pulls him up into standing once he’s through the gate.

“Oh dear me! What is that _unpleasant_ aroma?” It’s always the same old routine of Race insulting the Delanceys, but everyone still chuckles. “I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night.”

“Or could it be…” Crutchie elbows him lightly. 

_“The Delancey brothers!”_ Everyone says as Oscar finally pulls the gate open. Morris hits the gate next to Race’s face as a warning, but Race isn’t good at knowing when to quit either, and just give Morris a cheeky grin. 

“Hey Oscar,” Finch starts as soon as he’s through the gate. “Word on the street says you and ya brother took money ta beat up strikin’ trolley workers.”

“So? It’s honest work.” Oscar sneers. 

“By crackin’ the heads a defenseless workers?” Albert asks incredulously. 

“Take care a the guy who takes care a me.”

“Hey, ain’t your father one a the strikers?” Race barges through the gate and right up into Oscar’s face. 

“Guess he didn’t take care a me!” Oscar shoves Race back, causing an uproar among the newsies. Race gets right back in Oscar’s face, ready for a fight. 

“You want some a that too? Ya lousy crip!” Morris spins Crutchie around, grabs his crutch, and pushes the smaller boy to the ground. Jack is in his face immediately, tugging his boyfriend’s crutch out of Morris’ grasp. Albert ducks down to help Crutchie up, and to keep Oscar from kicking him while he’s down.

“That is not nice, Morris.” Jack tries to keep his voice calm, but he’s seconds away from beating the brothers within an inch of their lives. 

“All right, five ta one Jack skunks him!” Race yells, appearing quickly at Jack’s shoulder, pointing his pencil at Morris’ face. 

“Yeah!” The others agree as Oscar grabs Race’s shoulder and shoves him back. 

“Get off me.” Race mutters, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Romeo pats him on the shoulder and offers him a carnation. 

“One unfortunate day,” Jack tells Morris, ignoring Race and Oscar’s altercation. “You might find ya got a bum gam a ya own. How would ya like us pickin’ on you, huh? Hey. Hey!” Jack turns towards the other newsies to get their opinions. “Maybe we should find out.”

Suddenly Jack turns back toward Morris and swings the crutch around, hitting Morris hard in the leg. Morris goes down with a grunt and Jack wastes no time swinging on Oscar, too.

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you!” Shouts Oscar as he sits up.

“You gotta catch me first!” Jack pushes him back down and takes off through the square, crutch in hand. The other newsies cheer, and several of them jump over the Delanceys as they finally flood the square. When the Delanceys finally get up, they take off after Jack, and the newsies let them go without a fight, they won’t catch him, it’s not like they’re wizards or anything. 

Crutchie laughs as he jumps into Albert’s arms, this routine isn’t new either, and Albert is more than use to carrying Crutchie around when he has to. Albert sets Crutchie down on the paper wagon, he almost sits down too, but then a wad of paper hits him in the back of the neck, and he goes charging after Sniper. 

Crutchie enjoys a moment to himself, surrounded by rowdy newsboys, waiting for his boyfriend to bring him his crutch back. Same old same old; interesting things rarely happen to those who carry the banner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about the title, but I couldn't think of anything  
This chapter was very close to the beginning of the musical, later chapters will diverge more  
Also I recently started actually posting and stuff on tumblr I'm @lonely-thursday


	2. The New Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be just a normal day of selling, but now there's two new kids that Jack's gotta show the ropes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things to know  
1). Nomajs are more common, but wizards are more likely to buy newspapers  
2). Spit shakes form a sort of contract between the two parties, sorta like an unbreakable vow, except not as severe. Like if you break it then you’ll get super sick for a while, or you’ll have a nasty streak of bad luck. (This isn’t a universal wizard thing, it’s just a newsie thing)  
3). The first five years of magic education (at a generalized school) is called primary. The next two years (at a specialized school) is called secondary.
> 
> And it's occured to me just now that while I've tagged all the newsies as being in this fic, I didn't tag any of the adults or the Delanceys so I'm gonna go do that

“Papes for the newsies! Line up boys.” Mr. Wiesel yells from the circulation desk, startling Henry who had been standing nearby. 

Jack is suddenly by Crutchie’s side, crutch in hand. “Here, doll.”

“Try again.” Crutchie tells him, referring to the pet name.

“Sugarcakes?” Crutchie rolls his eyes. 

“That’s even worse.”

“Love?”

“Getting sappy.”

“Fine! Here’s your crutch, Crutch. See if I try to be sweet again.” They both know that it’s an empty threat, Jack can’t resist trying to be sweet. 

“I said _line up boys!”_ Wiesel emphasizes when no one reacts the first time. This time Jack actually heads to the circulation desk, causing Race to jump in behind him, then Crutchie, then everyone else. 

“Hey, get a load a this.” Albert whispers to Jojo, who’s in line behind him, while gesturing to the two boys in line ahead of him. “New kids.”

“Looks kinda young,” Jojo whispers back, pointing at the shorter one. “Think they’se gettin’ a wand?”

Albert nods towards the taller one. “He’s got one in his sleeve.”

Jojo nods in acknowledgement. 

“Mornin’, Weasel!” Jack yells jovially. “Ya missed me?”

“The name’s _Wiesel.”_ Wiesel emphasizes, as if it will make any difference. 

“Ain’t that what I said?” Jack looks back at Race for confirmation. Race nods in agreement, Wiesel does not look amused. “I’ll take the usual.”

“Hundred papes for the _wise guy.”_ Wiesel tells the Delanceys, taking Jack fifty cents. 

“How’s it goin’, _Weasel?”_ Race sasses as Oscar aggressively hands Jack sixty copies of _The World_ and Morris hands him forty copies of _The Wizard World._

“At least call me Mister.” Wiesel begs. 

“Well I’ll call ya Sweetheart if ya’d spot me fifty papes, eh?” Race flirts mockingly. Crutchie laughs a little at Race’s forwardness, but Wiesel does not look at all amused. 

“Drop the cash, and _move_ it along!” Wiesel glowers, though it does nothing to intimidate Race. 

“Oh, _well,_ whatever happened to romance?” He huffs dramatically, slapping his twenty-five cents down with a grin. 

“Fifty for the Racer.” Wiesel mutters before yelling “NEXT!”

“How many?” Oscar asks. 

“Uh, gimme forty.” Race tells him. Oscar gives Race forty nomaj papes, and Morris gives him ten wizard papes.

“Good morning Mr. Wiesel.” Crutchie says respectfully, putting down twenty-five cents. 

“Sixty papes for Crutchie.” Wiesel chuckles, pleased that _someone_ says his name correctly. “Have a look at this. A new kid!”

“I’m new, too!” The short kid pops out from behind the taller one.

“Hey, don’t worry kid! It rubs right off.” Race says before going back to rolling up his papes.

“I’ll take twenty newspapers please.” The taller boy requests as the smaller one heads towards Oscar.

“Twenty for the new kid.” Wiesel tells Oscar before turning back to the new kid to see that his hands are still in his pockets, and that’s he’s made no move to pay for the papers. “Now let’s see the dime.”

“I’ll you pay once I sell them.” The new kid says, the newsies all chuckle, there’s no way this kid is serious, but after a moment, it’s clear that the kid is completely serious.

“Funny kid. C’mon, cash up front.” This kid was really starting to get on Wiesel’s nerves.

“But whatever I don’t sell, you buy back, right?” Was this kid serious?” This questions causes an uproar among the newsies.

“What?”

“Is he serious?”

“Get movin’!”

“C’mon!”

“Why certainly!” Wiesel cries with false enthusiasm. “Oh, and every time you lose a tooth, I put a penny under your pillow.” Then his voice turns serious. “C’mon! Drop the cash or move along!”

The kid sighs, but puts a dime on the box anyway. 

“Yeah, move it along. Albert!” Wiesel yells suddenly, startling Albert out of a conversation with Jojo and Elmer. “Let me see your money!”

“How many?” Oscar asks the taller new kid.

“Uh, twenty?” The kid says, unsure of what Oscar’s asking. Oscar rolls his eyes and shoves twenty nomaj papes at him. 

“You have a _very_ interesting face.” Albert starts, the other newsies hang on every word, Albert has a new way to distract Wiesel every day, and it’s generally pretty entertaining to watch. “Ever think about gettin’ into movin’ pictures?”

“You really think I could?” Somehow, Wiesel is always falling for it. 

“Sure. Buy a _ticket. _They’ll let anyone in.” Everyone laughs as Albert slaps an empty hand down on the cash box and moves along to collect papes that didn’t pay for from Oscar and Morris. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me.” The older new kid speaks up from where he’s been counting his papers. Everyone turns their attention towards him, and his face goes slightly red, but he keeps going. “I paid for twenty papers, but you only gave me nineteen.”

_“Excuse_ me?” Oscar advances towards the new kids menacingly. The taller one tugs the shorter kid behind him in preparation for a beating. 

“I just want what I paid for.” He says with more confidence than he feels. Morris moves to back up his brother, but Jack places himself between the new kids and the Delanceys. 

“Whoa, whoa fellas,” he says to the Delanceys. “Don’t start a fight ya can’t win.”

“What, you think we can’t take him?” Morris points at the new kid who, admittedly, doesn’t look like he’d hold his own very well in a fistfight. 

“I think he’s got a wand, and you don’t.” Jack gestures back to the new kid who is now holding a wand in his dominant hand, his other hand is on the smaller kid. “Race!”

Race walks over and grabs the papers out of the smaller kid’s hand and begins counting them while the Delanceys object strenuously. 

“Just because he has a wand doesn’t mean he can call the shots!” Says one. 

“He’s tryin’ ta cheat us!” Yells the other. 

“Race?” Jack asks, still facing the Delanceys. 

“The new kid’s right, Jack. Nineteen papes.” Race informs him, handing the papers to Jack. Jack smirks at the Delanceys. 

“I’m sure it’s an honest mistake on account a Oscar can’t count ya twenty wit’ his shoes on.” Jack says. 

“Why you-“

Morris places a hand on Oscar’s chest to keep him in place, eyeing the wand in the tall kid’s hand warily. Oscar grumbles some more, but grabs another paper from the stack, giving it to Jack with a sneer. 

“Hey, give the new kid fifty more papes.” Jack hands the twenty nomaj papes to the tall kid then fishes another twenty-five cents from his pocket. 

“I don’t want more papes.” Jack freezes in the middle of collecting the papers, actually, _everyone_ freezes. _Don’t want more papes?_

“What kinda newsies don’t want more papes?” Jack asks slowly, not quite sure that he heard correctly. 

“I’m no charity case,” the boy insists, tucking his wand back into his sleeve before he starts to make his way out of the square. “I don’t even know you.”

“His name’s Jack!” The shorter kid yells without following his brother out. 

“Yeah, this here is the famous Jack Kelly!” Crutchie intercepts the taller boy before he can leave. “He once escaped jail on the back a Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage! Made all the papes.”

“How old are you, kid?” Jack asks the smaller brother. He’s small, so he’s definitely not eleven yet, but not so small that he wouldn’t be starting to save up to buy a wand. Jack would guess between eight and ten, eight might be a little young to start saving, but if these boys have a family, or even other siblings that are closer to school age…

“I’m ten… almost.” So he’s nine, that gives him about two summers to save up, plus one more before he starts school. Makes sense. 

“Well if anyone asks, you’re _seven. _Younger sells more papes,” younger implies some sort of tragedy, folks are always more willing to help victims of tragedy than they are to help kids get educations or to save up for ‘frivolous’ things. “And if we’re gonna be partners-“

“Who says we want to partner?” The older boy cuts him off. 

“Uh, partnering with Jack is the chance of a _lifetime!”_ How could this kid _not_ want to partner with Jack? “You learn from him; you learn from the best.”

“If he’s the best then what does he need with me?” 

“Cuz you got a little brother and I don’t. With that puss we could sell a thousand papes a week, easy!” Jack gesture towards the younger kid and the frankly adorable smile covering his face. “Hey, look sad, kid.”

The kid puts on an adorable pout, not quite convincing, but definitely cute. 

“We’re gonna make millions!” Jack chuckles, and Crutchie agrees. Nothing sells quite as well as a cute little kid. 

“I’m Les!” The kid tells them before gesturing to his older brother. “This is my brother, David.”

“Hey, nice ta meetcha, Davey.” Jack turns to the taller boy. “My two bits come off the top, we split everything else seventy-thirty.”

Jack ignores Race’s snort, and Crutchie’s incredulous look. Yeah, it’s not a good deal in theory, but in practice? This kid and his face are going to make top dollar, and even thirty percent of their earnings will be more than Davey alone would have made from fifty papes. It would be _a lot_ more than the two of them would have made from just twenty papes, especially since Davey had asked Oscar for only nomaj papes. Besides, if they take his deal, then Jack is going to make _bank,_ maybe even enough to get both him and Crutchie to Santa Fe (with enough left over to pad the lodging house’s emergency funds well enough that he wouldn’t feel guilty over leaving, of course).

“Fifty-fifty!” Les demands boldly. “You wouldn’t try to pull a fast one on a _little kid.”_

Les pouts again, and _yeah,_ this kid will make a fortune. 

“Sixty-forty,” Jack counters. “And _that_ is my final offer.”

Les looks to David for an opinion, and David considers for a moment. On the one hand, sixty-forty isn’t _quite_ fair, especially since there’s two of them and only one Jack. On the other hand, Jack is clearly the leader of these boys and they all seem to respect him, even the two boys handing out papers seem to have at least _a little_ respect for him (he did stop them from just outright attacking David after all), if he was willing to help them then it might prove useful. 

David nods at Les and hopes that the crippled boy is right, and that Jack really _is_ the best. 

Les accepts Jack’s deal and Jack spits into his hand to seal the deal. Les returns the gesture without hesitation, but his brother is clearly opposed to the gesture. 

“That’s disgusting.” He says, matter-of-factly. 

“That’s just business.” Jack tells him, though he doubts that these kids will be getting too involved in newsie business, school kids rarely stick around to chat with them once they’ve gotten their wands and their fancy books. “First lesson: how ta roll up ya papes so’s they’se easy ta pull out.”

Jack rolls all his papes individually and sticks them in his bag and helps Les do the same with his own papes. He trusts Davey to pick up the technique without help, though after a minute, he notices that Davey isn’t rolling up his papes, and is instead just watching Jack do it with a peculiar look on his face. 

“What’s the matter?” Jack asks him, snapping the taller boy out of his daze. “Can’t ya figure it out?”

“Oh, no. I, um, it’s.” David stutters for a moment before taking a breath and collecting his thoughts. “I can do it, but I was wondering how you tell your copies of _The World_ apart from your copies of _The Wizard World?”_

That seems to throw Jack for a loop. He stops rolling up newspapers in favor of staring at his bag, as if he’d never considered that before. David looks around the square and realizes that _every_ newsie within hearing distance is doing the same, as if _none_ of them had ever considered how they tell the two newspapers apart. David isn’t sure how they could have _not_ thought about this before, they can’t just go around giving nomajs a wizard newspaper, it would break the International Statute of Secrecy. 

“I dunno, you just… _know,_ I guess.” Crutchie is the one that answers, though David doesn’t find his answer to be particularly helpful. 

“Hey, new kid!” A boy from the back of the collection line calls. He looks cleaner than most of the boys here, much like how David and Les look. “You gotta organize your papes, either separated in the same bag, or carry two bags, and if you’re not sure which pape your customer wants just offer them a nomaj pape, wizards will ask for the wizard one, and nomajs will accept the pape no problem.”

“Thank you.” David is grateful that at least _one_ person seems to understand the need for order. 

_“Organize your papes?”_ David hears Jack whisper to Crutchie under his breath. Crutchie just shrugs, he looks just as confused but the concept as Jack does. 

David is beginning to think that Crutchie and Jack might not be as good as they think they are, possibly they’re just pranking David and Les. Except that the other newsies who have already paid for their papers and are also putting them in their bags seem just as confused by the concept as Jack and Crutchie. The blond boy who had recounted David’s papers earlier and the ginger boy who had been behind David in line, in particular, seem to be having a rather intense whispered conversation about it as they pack newspapers into their bags somewhat willy nilly. How these boys haven’t ended up being arrested for revealing magic to nomajs is beyond David. 

David shakes his head and begins to roll up his papers, nomaj papers in the front, wizard papers in the back. “So if you don’t organize your papers, how do you avoid giving a nomaj the wrong paper?”

“Ya jus’ gotta get the hang a sellin’,” Jack tells him. “Newsies don’t give out the wrong pape.”

David isn’t sure what to say to that, so he lets the conversation end there. David continues to rolls his papers until he’s down to one nomaj paper left to roll up, which is when a hand reaches out to stop him.

“Not that one.” Jack tells him, holding a paper of his own. “Ya carry that one around ta show ta folks and ta check the headlines.”

David nods and begins to look through the paper for different headlines. David isn’t even halfway through the paper when Jack starts yelling at everyone. 

“Newsies! Hit the streets! The sun is up, the headline stinks, and this kid ain’t gettin’ any younger!” Jack wraps a hand around Davey’s bicep as he passes and pulls the kid up and out of the square, his little brother following after them.

“I wasn’t done reading the headlines!” Davey protests.

“Lemme spare ya the trouble, they all stink. The nomaj pape, the wizard pape, nothin’ interestin’ happened.” Jack tells him.

“Isn’t that good?” Davey asks, like the young naive child he is.

“Not for sellin’ it ain’t. Now look, since the headlines stink, we ain’t gonna get any customers by yellin’ these out. Our best bet is ta make up better headlines. Well _our,”_ Jack motions to himself and Davey. “Best bet. The kid’s best bet is ta run up ta ladies and offer them a pape, maybe cough a little, ham it up kid.”

Les nods enthusiastically, but David is sceptical. “You want to _lie?”_

“Trust me, Dave. These papes ain’t gonna sell themselves, ya gotta work for it.” Jack stops walking and David assumes that they’ve reached what Jack has deemed as an appropriate selling spot. 

“Our father taught us not to lie.” David objects. 

“Yeah? Mine taught me not ta starve.” Jack says “Now listen, first, you’se both gonna stand here and watch me, then after a few minutes I’ll send you guys out ta see whatcha got. Alright?” Les and Davey both nod. “Good. Watch and learn boys.”

Jack stands on the street corner and calls out things that David is sure aren’t in either paper. 

“Extra, extra! Governor Roosevelt’s health scare! The latest details a the Jameson murder! Fire in Queens takes out three whole blocks!”

Jack sells the nomaj paper that he’s holding almost immediately. Jack sells another three papers in quick succession. He must be grabbing the correct paper every time because none of his customers ever comment on the paper they’ve been given, but, much to David’s astonishment, he never checks which paper he’s grabbing from his bag. After selling another two papers, Jack returns to where David and Les are still standing. 

“Now, ya see what I did, boys? Think ya can do that?” Les nods immediately, Davey takes a moment to think about it and then nods much more sedately. “Now Les, ya see that corner?” Jack points to where he had _just_ been selling. Les nods. “Good, you’se gonna stand over there and see how many papes ya can sell in ten minutes. After your done I’ll tell ya what you’se doin’ right and what you’se doing wrong.

“Should we really be leaving him alone?” David asks, his folks had trusted him to look after Les today, and letting Les wander off by himself definitely _isn’t _‘looking after him’.

“It’ll be fine, Dave.” Jack assures him. “I was jus’ over there and you’se could see me jus’ fine, yeah?”

“Yeah.” David mutters. 

Jack grins. “Go on kid, keep lookin’ cute and you’ll do great.”

Les runs up to the first lady he sees and starts his pitch.

“So is this what you do every time there’s a new kid?” David asks, feeling like he needs to make conversation rather than stand in silence for ten minutes.

“Well usually, I’se only got one new kid at a time, and I ain’t in the habit a helpin’ kids your age.” Jack tells him, sparing him a quick glance before turning his gaze back to Les, who’s already sold three papers.

“Why don’t you help older kids?”

“Cuz older kids is like you, and I don’t like dealin’ wit’ kids like you.” Jack doesn’t even spare him a glance this time.

“What is that supposed to mean?” David demands. What’s wrong with him? He’s responsible, well behaved, and passed all his primary classes.

“Forget it, Dave. It ain’t important. Time’s up kid!” Jack calls to Les.

Les runs up to them with a quarter in his hand. “One lady gave me a whole quarter for a pape!”

“Good job kid, you’se born ta the breed!” Jack praises in a tone that’s totally different than the one had been using with David just seconds ago. “My only note is that you ain’t got a hold a grabbin’ the right pape, but it’s ya first day and you’se a bright kid, you’ll get a hang a it. Your turn, Davey, let’s see whatcha got!”

Davey’s selling strategy appears to be just showing people the pape and hoping that their own desire for a pape will get them to buy it. He shouts out the actual headline, as if anyone is actually interested, and when he finally catches onto the fact that that headline won’t sell itself, he resorts to just shouting “paper!” He does manage to make one sale, it’s to an elderly wizard who must not be in any rush because he doesn’t get annoyed at how long it takes for Davey to find a copy of _The Wizard World. _Jack had intended to give Davey the entire ten minutes, like he had given Les, but Davey is so bad at selling the Jack has to step in after just five minutes. 

“Davey, Dave, listen.” Jack starts. “You can’t sell papes like that. It boring and it won’t get anyone’s attention. Ya gotta _exaggerate, _ya gotta tell them interestin’ things so’s that they thinks ‘yeah I gotta read ‘bout that.’”

“But if I lie then they’ll be looking for a story that isn’t there.” Davey protests. 

“By the time they realize that we’ll be _long_ gone, and no one’s gonna search New York for some kid who lied ta them ‘bout what was or wasn’t in the pape.” Jack explains. This is part of why he doesn’t like teaching kids like this, they have folks, they go to school, and they learn to value the truth over their own survival. “Davey, you’se gonna stick wit’ me now. Les, if ya see an easy customer, ya run up ta them and do exactly whatcha was doin’ before. Don’t wander off though, gotta stick close ta us, got it?”

Les nods and runs off to a group of women out for a morning stroll. David sighs, this is going to be a long day. 

What feels like an eternity later, but what was probably only about six or seven hours, they’ve managed to sell one hundred and seventeen of their original one hundred twenty papers. They have two wizard papers and on nomaj paper left when Jack tells them it's time to get lunch, they can try to sell their remaining papers later, after the evening paper comes out. 

“What do newsies do for lunch?” Davey asks, looking dead on his feet. This is probably the most work he’s ever had to do, and Jack is very impressed that he never complained about being tired. Les _had_ complained, but littler kids always do, especially when they’re just starting out. 

“I’ll take ya ta the _best _deli in all a Manhattan.” Jack promises and begins leading the brothers down the street. 

Five minutes later, they’re outside a wizard deli that has definitely seen better days, even the charm on it that keeps the nomajs away is fading. But it’s honestly not the worst place David has ever seen, and it reminds David of the deli that his family goes to sometimes, when they can afford it. 

Inside the deli is a little better than the outside. It’s clean, well furnished, the food looks fresh. The place is mostly empty as the lunch rush had ended an hour ago, but there’s a couple of older wizards playing checkers in the corner, as well as a large gaggle of loud newsboys taking up almost half the deli without shame. 

“Heya fellas!” Jack yells over the commotion. He’s met with a loud chorus of incoherent greetings. Jack laughs, clearly more in his element with them than he had been with David and Les, and turns back to face David. “Now I assume ya know how a deli works? If ya want food, ya can go order it yourselves, if not then ya can jus’ sit around ‘til either it’s time ta get the evenin’ pape or Jacobi kicks us out.”

Jack pats Davey on the shoulder before heading towards where Crutchie’s got a seat saved for him. Crutchie smiles when he sits down and offers Jack half of a sandwich. 

“Hiya Jack!”

“Hey Crutch.” Jack looks around to see if anyone’s watching, the older wizards are absorbed in their game, and Davey and Les have gone to the counter to order food, so Jack kisses Crutchie’s cheek quickly. “How was sellin’ this mornin’?”

“It was good, I sold all a my papes.” Crutchie grabs Jack’s hand under the table, where unfriendly eyes can’t see. “Got a little sore, ‘bout an hour ago, so’s I got Al ta carry me here.”

“Ya gain weight, Crutchie?” Specs teases, pointing to Albert, who’s asleep on Elmer’s shoulder. “Ya wore the poor boy out.”

“I’m sure I’se not the one ta wear him out.” Crutchie smirks. 

“Speakin’ a which,” Finch slides into the vacant seat on Crutchie’s other side. “Where’s Race?”

“Big race at Sheepshead today,” Jack explains. “I’d be surprised if he took the time ta come all the way back here.”

“I’m surprised he only took fifty papes if there’s a big race today.”

Jack shrugs. “Racer knows his customer better than we do.”

“Hey new kids!” Finch yells across the table as Davey and Les take one of the only unoccupied spots. “What’s your story, huh?”

“Oh, well… um.” Davey’s face goes red at the bluntness of the question. 

“Aw leave ‘em alone, Finch.” Mush chides from a further down the table. “‘Less you wanna tell ‘em your story, they don’t gotta tell ya theirs.”

“Shuddup Mush!” David is shocked that Finch is able to throw a napkin right into Mush’s face from that distance, though he’s even more shocked when Blink’s hand reaches out and catches the napkin before it can make contact even though Blink isn’t facing Finch. “Hey!”

Another napkin hits Finch from the other direction, and Finch is quick to fire back. 

“Boys! Boys! No fighting in my deli!” Mr. Jacobi yells as he places a sandwich in front of David and Les. Finch cocks a snook at his retreating back, but doesn’t throw anything else. 

“Don’t worry,” Crutchie whispers to David while everyone else’s attention is elsewhere. “Ya don’t gotta tell anyone if ya don’t wanna, no one’s gonna force you.”

“Thanks.” David whispers back. 

The rest of the break is a blur of playful insults and the odd projectile or two between so many boys that David doubts he could ever learn all of their names. It’s louder than he’s used to, and after finishing his sandwich (which is admittedly very tasty) he seriously considers just leaving. It’s not that he doesn’t _like_ the newsies, David’s pretty sure that given time he could really learn to enjoy their company, it’s just that all the noise has begun grating on his nerves. Before he follows through with his plan of leaving, however, Jack announces over the racket that it’s time to get back to the circulation desk for the evening paper. 

The evening pape is only for nomajs, and isn’t as interesting as the morning pape, so no one buys nearly as many as they had earlier. Jack only buys fifty to split between himself, Davey, and Les. It’s more than he usually buys, but he has a feeling that between his made up headlines, and Les’s face, they can sell the whole bundle. Their only problem is Davey’s frankly awful selling skills. 

“Paper!” Davey shouts before approaching a passing man. “Evening pape here.”

The man ignores him and keeps walking, and Jack can’t resist laughing a little. “Sing ‘im ta sleep, why dontcha? Extra! Extra! Terrified flight from burnin’ inferno! You heard the story right here!” A passing man immediately takes the pape, giving Jack a nickel in return. “Thanks, mister!”

Jack waves the nickel in Davey’s face. The taller boy takes the coin with a sigh and adds it in with the rest of their earnings. 

“You just made that up.” He accuses. 

“I did no such thing!” Jack makes a face like he’s been offended, but really, Davey’s stick-in-the-mud ways are beginning to become entertaining for him. “I said he heard it right here and he did.”

David sighs again, but he lets it go. Jack is clearly used to lying in order to sell more newspapers and David’s sudden involvement isn’t going to change his ways. 

“I just sold my last paper!” Les declares loudly. David checks his own bag to find that he still has one paper left. 

“I’ve still got one more.”

“Sell it or pay for it.” Jack tells him. 

“Give it here!” Les snatches the paper and runs up to a passing woman. “Buy a pape from a poor orphan boy?”

Les hams it up with a fake cough and the woman’s face melts with sympathy. “Oh you poor thing! Of course I’ll buy a newspaper! Here’s a dime.”

“This is _so much_ better than school!” Les declares as he gives David the dime. 

“Don’t even think about it!” David scolds. “We’re doing this in order to get you into school.”

Jack chuckles a little, kids never want to go to school. He sees Race coming down the street, newspaper aloft, probably his last one, and waves. Race waves back, but continues trying to sell the paper. 

“So what do ya say we divvy up the money, and find someplace safe ta spend the night?” Jack turns back to the brothers. 

“Nah, we should get going.” Davey says. “Our folks are probably waiting for us. 

“Oh. You got folks…” Jack had forgotten that they weren’t a couple of homeless kids like the rest of his boys. 

“Doesn’t everyone?” Les asks innocently. 

“Why don’t you come home with us for dinner? Our folks would be happy to have you.” Davey jumps in quickly, giving Jack a sympathetic look. No, he gives Jack a _pitying_ look. Jack doesn’t need pity, and he doesn’t need _folks._ He’s got his brothers, and he’s got Crutchie, he doesn’t need anyone else. 

“I, uh, I just remembered that… I have plans! With a fella. In fact, he’s… he’s probably waiting on me right now!” Abort, abort, _abort!_

“Is _that_ the guy you’re meetin’?” Les points to someone behind him. When Jack turns around, he comes face to face with the man that haunts his nightmares. _Snyder._

“Jack Kelly!” Snyder yells, making his way through the sparse crowd. 

Jack only freezes for a second before he shouts “run for it!”

Jack grabs Les and trusts Davey to follow without question, or at least no questions until they’ve stopped. Ahead of them, Jack sees Race drop his pape and take off running without a second glance. _‘Good. One less kid to worry about.’_

Jack leads Les and Davey through a complicated and winding path around Manhattan, with his only thoughts being to lose the Spider. It’s only when a familiar street comes into view that Jack forms any idea of where to hide. 

_‘Perfect!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was suppose to go from Wiesel's entrance to when Jack goes to bed at night, but it's already significantly longer than the first chapter so Medda will be in the next chapter.  
In the musical, when they're handing out papes, Oscar hands out papes and Morris does nothing, so in this they each get a pape to hand out  
Also, Wiesel gets offended when Davey says he only got 19 papes, but Oscar was the one who had counted them so it makes more sense for Oscar to be mad  
Race buys way less wizard papes than everyone else because horse racing is primarily a nomaj thing


	3. Baby, That's Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping Snyder, Jack runs into an old friend, and a familiar face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School starts on Wednesday so I'm not sure how often I'll be updating, but I REALLY want to finish this fic, so I'll try
> 
> I’ve decided to just use the word wizard for everything since I’ve already been using it and because witches and wizards are different things and not just male/female of the same thing
> 
> So Jack/Crutchie, Blink/Mush, and Buttons/Elmer are all established relationships  
Race/Albert is a lot of mutual pining to the point that everyone knows about how they both feel except each other  
Romeo/Specs is Specs thinks that they're together and that Romeo isn't comfortable with intimacy, Romeo thinks that he's just forever pining after Specs

David follows Jack as he runs down an alley and wrenches one of doors open. Jack motions David and Les into the building, and even though David isn’t a fan of trespassing, he’s even less of a fan of finding out firsthand why Jack is running from the man behind them. Once inside the building, Jack shuts the door then pulls David and Les farther into the building and up some stairs. They end up on a catwalk, and it’s only then that David realizes that Jack lead them into the backstage of a theater. 

“Okay,” Jack pants, gripping the railing of the catwalk. “We lost ‘im.”

“Anyone wanna explain why I’m runnin’? I got no one chasin’ me!” David tries, fruitlessly, to straighten his clothes out enough that his mother won’t know he was running around like a maniac. “Who was that guy anyway?”

“That there was Snyder, the Spider, a real _sweetie.”_ Jack sneers. “He runs a jail for underage magic folk called the Refuge. The more kids he brings in, the more the city pays ‘im. Problem is, all that money goes right inta ‘is own pocket. Just do yourself a favor and stay clear a him and the Refuge.”

“The city pays him?” David asks. It’s strange that the warden of a wizard jail would receive money from the city rather than from Magical Law Enforcement or some other branch of MACUSA. 

“The nomajs think it’s a normal juvenile jail.” Jack explains dismissively. “Since most a the kids there is either below schoolin’ age or else ain’t ‘proper wizard folk’, so’s they’se under nomaj jurisdiction, technically.”

“‘Proper wizard folk’?” David asks. Jack opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by a woman below the catwalk yelling at them. 

“HEY! You up there! Shoo!” A woman dressing in a violent pink costume tries to shoo them off. “No kids allowed in the theater!”

David looks to Jack for guidance. They shouldn’t have come here, even to avoid jail, they’re trespassing. Jack doesn’t look concerned though, he’s grinning like this is the best thing to ever happen to him. 

“Not even me, Miss Medda?” He leans over the railing and calls down to her. 

“Jack Kelly!” Unlike the man from earlier, Miss Medda looks pleased to see Jack. “Man of mystery. Getcha self down here and give me a hug.”

Jack sprints down from the catwalk and launches himself into Miss Medda’s embrace. David thinks Jack and Miss Medda must be close, Jack practically looks like a kid running into their mother’s arms. 

“Oh! Where you been keepin’ yaself, kid?” Medda asks without letting go of Jack. 

“Oh never far from _you, _Miss Medda!” Jack pulls back from the hug in order to gesture to the two boys behind him. “Boys, may I introduce Miss Medda Larkin! The greatest star in the Bowery today. She also own the joint.”

“Oh, he only thing I _own_ is the mortgage.” Medda laughs. “Pleasure gents.”

“A pleasure.” David responds respectfully. He turns to see why Les hadn’t greeted their host only to see his brother bent over, gaping at something behind him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Are you blind? She got no clothes on!” Les yells. David feels his cheeks heat up and he turns to see what Les is looking at. He sees two women in showgirl costumes, the shape of their legs fully visible under their non-existent skirts and tights. David’s face is fully red now. 

“That’s her costume!” He scolds, trying to will away the blush, and moving to block off Les’ staring. 

“But I can see her legs!” Les objects, still gaping. 

“Well, step outta his way so’s he can get a better look.” Medda shoos David off. “Theater’s not only entertaining, it’s educational. Got the picture kid?”

Les nods and it takes everything in David not to use the killing curse on himself right here right now. 

“Say, Miss Medda,” Jack changes the subject. “We got a little situation on the street. Ya mind if I hideout here for a while?”

“Where better to escape trouble than the theater?” Medda replies. “Is Snyder after you again?”

“Hey Jack!” Les interrupts. “Did you really escape jail on the back a Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage?”

Jack opens his mouth to answer, but Davey cuts him off. 

“Come on, what would the governor be doing at a juvenile magical jail?” He asks incredulously. 

“Well it just so happens that, other than bein’ governor, he’s also the head a Magical Law Enforcement.” Jack informs him. “But at the time, ‘e was runnin’ for governor, and ‘e wanted ta show ‘e cared about orphans and such, so while ‘e got ‘is mug in a pape, I got my butt in the backseat, and off we rode _tagether.”_

Jack pokes Les in the chest for emphasis. Les looks enchanted by the story, though Davey looks sceptical. 

“He’s head of Magical Law Enforcement?” Davey asks. Jack just rolls his eyes. 

“Dontcha read the _papes, _Dave?” Jack asks sarcastically. 

“You really know the governor?” Les asks excitedly. 

“He don’t,” Medda answers for him, chuckling. “But I _do.”_

Davey’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief at Medda’s suggestion. Jack just snorts. 

“Uh, say, Jack,” Medda moves on, as if her last statement meant nothing. “When you’ve got time, I want you to paint me another one of these backdrops.” 

Medda points to what is possibly one of the most amazing paintings that David has ever seen. At first glance, it looks like just a normal backdrop of some normal trees and a river at sunset, but if you look at it for more than a second then the water seems to sparkle is the sunlight, and a soft breeze seems to cause the trees to sway gently and the water to ripple slightly. Looking at it for a solid minute confirms that none of that is really happening, yet it somehow seems like it is. 

“Sure,” Jack agrees easily. 

“This last one you did is a doozy.” Medda praises, and it really is. “Folks love it, and things have been going so well that I can actually _pay.”_

“I couldn’t take your money, Miss Medda.” Jack stutters, it’s just the second time all day that David has seen his demeanor falter, the first being when David had offered to bring Jack to his house. 

“You pictured that?” Les asks before Medda could insist. 

“Your friend is _quite_ an artist.” Medda praises, making Jack squirm uncomfortably. 

“All right. Take it easy. It’s a bunch a trees.” 

“You’re really good.” David tells him plainly, leaving no room for Jack to walk back his own talents. 

“That boy’s got natural _aptitude.” _Medda says as if Jack or Les would know what ‘aptitude’ meant. 

“Okay.” Jack is clearly uncomfortable with all the compliments and has resigned himself to just accepting them as they come. 

“Jeez! I never knew no one with an aptitude!” Les says, clearly pretending to know what he’s saying. Medda points to Les as if to say ‘listen to that boy’, but is interrupted by the stage manager. 

“Miss Medda, you’re on!” He yells from the doorway. 

“I _am?”_ Medda gasps. “How ‘m I doin’?”

Medda begins to laugh at her own joke, but when the stage manager doesn’t look amused she waves him off, instead turning to Jack and Davey, expecting them to laugh. Which they do, but with questionable sincerity. 

“Boys, lock the door and stay all _night!”_ Medda tells them jovially. “You’re with Medda now.”

And with that, Medda heads on stage to begin her musical number. Davey and Les stay backstage to watch from behind the curtain, but Jack spots an open seat in the audience and snags it so that he can watch her performance in all its glory. 

Medda’s song is a beautiful piece about being rich, and Jack thoroughly enjoys it, but near the end, the man who had been previously sitting in the seat that Jack had claimed returned, so Jack scampered backstage. As he left, he noticed a lone girl sitting in one of the private boxes, he recognized that girl. That’s that girl who hadn’t hexed him earlier even though he had obviously deserved it. He tries to wave at her, but she doesn’t notice. 

Jack gets backstage just in time to hugs Medda as the next act takes the stage. He asks about the girl in the box, but Medda just tells him to go find out for himself, and really, that’s all the permission Jack needs before he’s climbing the stairs, heading towards the private box. He isn’t sure why he wants to talk to her so badly, whether it’s that this is the second time he’s seen her today, or if it’s that she hadn’t hexed him earlier, either way, he lets himself into her box with ease. 

“Hello again.” He says quietly, just to get her attention. She turns quickly, startled by the second presence in her box. 

“This is a private box.” She informs him. Her posture relaxing slightly as soon as she recognizes him. 

“What, you want I should lock the door?” He grins. “Twice in one day! Think it’s fate?”

“Go away,” The girl turns back to her notepad. “I’m working.”

“Oh a working girl, huh?” Jack leans forward, genuinely interested in knowing what this girl is doing here, by herself. “Doin’ what?”

“Reviewing the show for _The New York Sun.”_

“Hey! I work for _The World.”_ Jack tells her excitedly. 

“Oh, somewhere out there someone cares.” She replies, just as sassy as this morning. “Go tell them!”

She gestures towards the door, clearly wanted Jack to leave, but he’s enjoying her personality too much to leave now. Especially since she _still _hasn’t hexed him. 

“The view is better here.” He tells her, looking at the Bowery Beauties, who have already begun their song, it’s not exactly his favorite act, but he can definitely see it better here than he could have backstage. 

“Please go. I am not in the habit of talking to strangers.”

“Well, then you’re gonna make a lousy reporter.” Jack scoffs, and by the look on her face, he can tell he got her. “The name’s Jack Kelly.”

“Is that what it says on your rap sheet?” She asks him, probably meaning it as a joke, but his rap sheet does, in fact, say Jack Kelly on it. 

“Oh, a smart girl, huh?” Jack asks, but she’s turned back to the show, completely ignoring him, so he decides to keep talking until she talks to him again. “I admire smart girls. Beautiful. Smart. Independent-“

“Do you mind!” She pulls out her wand and brandishes it at Jack threateningly, and he _knows _that he’s overstepped and is _definitely_ going to have to pay the price for it this time.

He backs up with his hands raised in surrender, hoping Davey knows a cure for whatever she’s about to hit him with, but she must see the fear in his eyes because her anger dissipates and she backs off a little bit. 

“Sorry.” She whispers, tucking her wand back into the hidden pocket in her skirt. She straightens out her skirt and takes her seat again. Jack is still wary of her, but she doesn’t threaten him again. “You’re not a muggle, are you?”

“‘Course I’se a muggle.” Jack answers, what else would he be. The reporter gives him a funny look before seeming to realize something. 

“I’m sorry, I meant: you’re not a nomaj, are you?” She corrects herself. 

“No?” Jack says, not quite sure how someone would mistake a muggle for a nomaj.

“I went to school in England,” she explains. “The slang is different. Remind me what a muggle is.”

Jack rolls his eyes. For a smart girl, she’s not looking too bright. “A muggle means someone who ain’t been ta school, but is still magic.”

“Right.” She agrees dismissively, going back to paying attention to the show. Her concentration is so complete and so captivating that Jack’s fingers itch to draw her. He pulls out an old newspaper and his pencil and begins sketching.

Unbeknownst to Jack, he’s singing along with the Beauties under her breath. The reporter almost yells at him again, but then she realizes that he’s doing it subconsciously, and since is singing isn’t half bad, she lets him continue until he finishes his drawing. Once he’s done, he places the newspaper on an empty seat, and leaves the box. When she looks at his discarded paper, she realizes that it’s an incredibly lifelike drawing of herself. She looks at the recently closed door and wonders who is Jack Kelly.

Eventually Jack wanders back to where Davey is counting their profits for the day in Medda’s dressing room. Jack watches Davey for a moment, he’s alone so more likely than not, one of the Bowery Beauties is teaching the kid how to cheat at poker.

“So,” Davey nearly jumps out of his skin, and Jack almost feels bad for startling him… almost. “I’se been tryin’ ya be considerate a ya feelin’s, or whatever, but I’se been dyin’ ta ask.”

Jack pauses and Davey gives him a wary look. “Yes?”

Jack pulls the chair out from Medda’s vanity and straddles it backwards. “What’s your story? How’d ya end up havin’ ta sell papes?”

“Oh!” Davey’s face goes bright red and he flounders for words. “Well, I, um, we… uh…”

“Tell ya what,” Jack laughs. “I’ll tell ya my story if you tell me yours. If ya don’t want ta tell me then ya don’t hafta, ya jus’ won't learn my story.”

David considers his options. He doesn’t really feel comfortable sharing his story with a practical stranger, but his curiosity is too strong. 

“Alright,” David nods. “But you first.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Jack concedes. “I never knew my ma, she died givin’ birth ta me, but my pops told me she was a wizard. He said she migrated over from Spain all by ‘erself, wit’out a dime ta ‘er name. Pops was a wizard too; he was self-taught since Irish immigrants weren’t allowed in schools back then. 

“Pops weren’t the best father, but ‘e was what I had, and I think ‘e tried ‘is best most a the time. We couldn’t afford food most a the time and when I’se ‘bout six, I think, pops sent me out ta get a job. ‘Course, bein’ six, I didn’t really know where ta _get_ a job so’s I spent most a the first day jus’ wanderin’ ‘round. That’s when I ran inta Blue. 

“Blue was the leader a the ‘Hattan newsies before Ham Bone, who was the leader before me. ‘E found me wanderin’ ‘round and asked me what I’se doin’, and I told ‘im I’se needin’ ta make money, so ‘e decided ta teach me ta be a newsie. I was the best newsie, took ta it instantly. 

“One day, while I was sellin’, my pops said the wrong thing ta the wrong person. I don’t really know what happened, I jus’ know that when I got home… he was dead, and all our money, ‘is wand, anythin’ we had of value, was gone. Landlord didn’t take pity on me jus’ cuz I was a kid. ‘E kicked me out. I spent the firs’ night on the streets, but the next night the bulls found me, they took me ta the Refuge…”

Jack trails off, clearly lost in thought. After a minute or so, Jack shakes himself out of his thoughts and focuses back on David. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, the Refuge… it ain’t good memories.”

“That’s alright,” David says gently. “I understand.”

“After I got out, I found my way back ta the newsies. Blue set me up for the firs’ night, got me back on my feet. I’se been there ever since.”

“Thank you,” David says. “For telling me, I mean. Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t go gettin’ sappy on me, Dave.” Jack attempts to lighten the mood. “Your turn.”

David turns pink again, but a deal’s a deal. “My mother is a wizard, my father is a nomaj. Ma works as a secretary for the head of Magical Immigration, it doesn’t pay much, but enough to pay our rent. Pops tangled with a delivery truck on the job, it messed up his leg bad so they laid him off. Ma doesn’t make enough to pay the bills, keep everyone fed, _and _buy Les a wand. That's why we had to find work.”

Jack nods. “Makes sense. Too bad ‘bout ya dad.”

David nods too, and the two fall into an awkward silence, neither quite sure what to say. 

“Boys!” Medda calls, breaking the silence. Medda enters her dressing room and finds the two boys awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other. “Boys, it’s getting late, and the show is over. It’s time for you both to be gettin’ home.”

“Thanks for letting us hang around, Medda.” Jack gives the performer one last hug before leading Davey out to go search for his little brother. 

“Thank you,” David mumbles before getting pulled into an unexpected and tight hug. 

“You and your brother are welcome in my theater anytime, baby.” Medda tells him before turning an accusing eye on Jack. “And next time you’re here you had better bring Crutchie wit’ you, you haven’t brought him around in _far_ too long.”

“I will Medda,” Jack crosses his finger over his heart. “I promise.”

“Good, now get goin’, both of you.”

Jack grabs David’s hand and leads him through the maze that is the backstage of Medda’s theater. They find Les asleep on some crates by the door, David doesn’t have the heart to wake him, so he opts to carry him instead. 

“Your folks won’t be too mad at ya for gettin’ home late, will they?” Jack asks as he cautiously opens the door and peers both ways before finally leading Davey and Les back outside. 

“I don’t think that they’ll be too pleased,” Davey sighs. “But I think they’ll understand, once I explain what happened.”

The three - well more like two since David was carrying a sleeping Les - walk in silence for almost ten minutes before David gather enough courage to ask a question. 

“Are all newsies muggles?” He asks, watching Jack face closely to make sure he hadn’t crossed any unspoken barriers. 

“Nah,” Jack answers easily. “Most a us is, but there’s plenty a kids like you”

“You said that earlier,” David says. “‘Kids like me’, what do you mean?”

“Ya know, educated ones.” Jack explains while making weird gestures with his hands. “Kids who think they’se better than us cuz they’se got their wands and their fancy books-“

“I don’t think I’m better than you.” David cuts him off quickly.

“No?” Jack scans Davey’s face for any trace of deceit, he finds none. “Oh… well…” 

Jack trails off, no one’s ever said that they don’t think they’re better than Jack before. Especially not straightlaced school boys like Davey. 

Jack and Davey continue the walk in silence. Jack continues to look down every alleyway and around every street corner - just to make sure Snyder or the bulls aren’t still prowling about. Eventually Davey stops in front of a depressing old tenement building like the one Jack used to live in with his dad. 

“This is us.” Davey gestures to the building with his head, adjusting his grip on Les so that he’ll be able to open the door. “It was nice meeting you, Jack.”

“Yeah, you too Davey.” Jack means it, it was actually nice to meet Davey and Les. “I’se should be headin’ home.”

Jack turns to leave, but Davey suddenly calls after him. 

“Oh! Wait! Jack,” Davey awkwardly reaches into his pocket, without putting his sleeping brother down, and pulls out a handful of coins. “Your cut of today’s earnings. Sixty percent.”

“That can’t be right.” Jack stares at the fistful of coins in shock, he knew that Les was a goldmine, but it’s just so many coins. “That’s gotta be like ten bucks!”

“Actually it’s fourteen dollars and twenty-three cents.” David corrects. “I hope you don’t mind, but it didn’t come out quite evenly, and I claimed the extra penny for myself and Les.”

_“Mind?_ Dave this is as much as I make by myself in a _week!_ Ya could skim me a whole five bucks and I wouldn’t mind!” Fourteen dollars. In one day he made _fourteen dollars. ‘Santa Fe, here we come!’_ “How much did you get?”

“Nine dollars and forty-nine cents.” David tells him. Not bad for his first day. Jack however shakes his head. 

“That’s almost a five dollar difference!”

“Well our deal was sixty-forty,” David tells him, perplexed. “That’s a twenty percent difference, and a twenty percent difference on over twenty dollars comes out to over four dollars.”

“Nah uh,” Jack shakes his head and hastily tries to count out two dollars from his handful of coins. “Here, take another two. Buy your family some fresh meat, or some candy, or somethin’.”

“Jack,” Davey tries to object, but his hands are full and Jack shoves the two dollars directly into his pocket. 

“Dave, please, this is more than I woulda made by myself today.” Jack turns to leave before Davey can stop him. “Ya can pay me back by partnerin’ wit’ me again tomorrow.”

“Alright, I guess.” Davey agrees reluctantly. 

“Good man, Dave. G’night!” Jack calls over his shoulder. 

“‘Night Jack.” Davey finally enters the tenement. 

_‘Twelve dollars!’_ Jack chuckles to himself on his way back to the lodging house. _‘Twelve dollars in _one_ day.’_

Back at the lodge, Race and Albert are the only ones still in the common room. Race is anxiously awaiting Jack’s return, as he does every time Jack is late, and Albert is trying to distract him by asking about the day’s horse race. Race is in the middle of regaling Albert with all the riveting details about a bunch of horses running in a glorified circle when Jack pushes the front door open. 

“Oh he deigns ta return, does ‘e.” Race says with more bravado than he feels. “The Great Jack Kelly decides to grace us wit’ ‘is presence at last.”

“Knock it off, Race.” Albert scolds quietly, trying to distract him by pulling the pen out of his hands, but Race is only focused on Jack. 

“I’se sorry I’se late, Racer.” Jack apologizes. “I had a close call earlier and I decided ta hide out at Medda’s for a while.”

“How was the new kids?” Albert asks as Race flops back into the sofa to pout. 

“The kid’s a natural, ‘is brother will get there eventually… maybe.” Jack moves past the pair towards the stairs. He has to check on all his boys before he can join Crutchie on the roof. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“Sure, _ma!” _Race calls after him. Jack just chuckles, Race isn’t good at hiding his worrying. 

Jack checks every room carefully, counting heads as he goes. Buttons, Elmer, Boots, Ticker, Mike and Ike, Henry, Kenny, Jojo, Sloopy, Mush, Mush’s dog (that Mush wasn’t supposed to bring into the lodge but did anyway), Blink (who was clearly kicked out of Mush’s bed in favor of said dog), Tags, Sniper, Specs, Romeo (who isn’t sleeping in Specs’ bed because he’s oblivious), Smalls, Tommy Boy…

By the time he’s done with his headcount, Race and Albert Have also gone to bed (in separate beds because they’re also oblivious). That leaves only one kid unaccounted for. Crutchie. 

“Hey, sunshine!” Jack calls as he climbs the ladder to the roof. 

“I actually like that one.” Crutchie calls sleepily from the pile of cardboard and old blankets that he and Jack use as a bed. “You’re back late.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jack kneels next to the makeshift bed and removes his outer layers to prepare for bed. “I had a run in wit’ Snyder earlier-“

“Jack!” Crutchie sits up, suddenly much more awake, full attention on Jack. 

“It’s nothin’, Crutch. I’se here, I’se okay.” Jack pulls the younger boy into a tight hug, rocking him gently. “He didn’t even get _close_ ta catchin’ me this time.”

“Ya gotta be careful, Jack.” Crutchie mumbles into his shoulder. 

“When am I not careful?” Jack scoffs. Crutchie snorts. “Okay, so I ain’t got a good track record, but I’se _fine.”_

“Sure, Jack, sure.”

“Anyway,” Jack places a kiss on top of Crutchie’s head. “Guess how much I made today.”

“Two bucks.” Crutchie lies down and Jack spoons up behind him. 

“C’mon, Crutch, you’se saw that kid, two buck ain’t nothin’.”

“Five bucks.” Crutchie mumbles. 

“More.”

“A hundred bucks and ranch in Santa Fe.”

“Okay, not that much.” Jack laughs. 

“Go ta sleep, Jackie.” Crutchie sighs. 

“Twelve bucks.” Jack mumbles into Crutchie’s neck. “I made twelve whole bucks today.”

“Good for you. _Sleep.”_

"Night, sunshine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re thinking “why wouldn’t Davey know who the head of the magical law enforcement office is?”, then ask yourself “do I know who the local police chief is?”  
If you do know, then good for you cuz I sure don’t
> 
> Fun fact! Mike and Ike sleep in the same bed because they’ve fallen asleep in the bottom bunk and woken up on the top bunk and not realized it way too many times (they fell off the bed a lot)


	4. Chase The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crutchie’s feeling insecure, but Jack loves him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s short, it’s just a little something to tide you over until I update again

Life goes on more or less the same as it always has for the newsies, with the exception of Davey and Les joining their ranks. Jack continues to sell with Davey and Les everyday, and everyday he tells Crutchie at lunch or after they’re back in their “penthouse” for the day how amazing Davey is, or how smart, or how talented. Sometimes Crutchie looks over Jack’s shoulder as he sketches, and he sees Davey’s face taking shape on the page, or Jack will return later than normal because he was out showing Davey “how to have a good time”, whatever that means. 

Sometimes Crutchie thinks that Jack’s dream, the two of them in Santa Fe, has changed. 

“Hey Jack?” Crutchie asks one night almost a week after Davey had shown up, while Jack sits against the raised edge of the rooftop, sketching. ‘ _ Probably sketching Davey.’ _ Crutchie thinks to himself. 

“Yeah, sunshine?” Jack asks without looking up from his drawing. 

“If you had enough money to do anything and everything, what would you do?” Crutchie asks quietly, it’s not the question that he meant to ask, but it’s the one that came out. 

“Hmm,” Jack lowers his paper, staring off into the distance as he thinks it over. “I would buy first class tickets for the two of us to go to Santa Fe, where we would live on a ranch, raising horses and cattle. Maybe bring Race, cuz ya know he loves horses. Though if we brought Race, then we’d hafta bring Albert, so’s I’d get ‘em a separate house from ours. ‘Course if we brought Race and Albert then Elmer would wanna come, and if Elmer came then Buttons would come, and if Buttons came…”

Jack trails off, thinking about how much he’ll miss his boys when he and Crutchie finally leave. In a perfect world, Jack would bring all his boys with him, maybe not have everyone in the same house, but close enough that they could all see each other often. 

“What about Davey?” Crutchie asks, getting closer to his original question. 

“Well sure, Dave could come too.” Jack says absent mindedly returning to his drawing. “But if we brought Davey then he’d want ta bring ‘is family, and they’d wanna bring  _ their  _ friends, who would wanna bring  _ their  _ friends and we gotta draw the line somewhere, Crutch, unlimited money or not, we can’t bring all a New York ta Santa Fe.”

“Would ya get a wand? In ya perfect world?” Crutchie asks, chickening out. 

“Nah I don’t really see the point, ya know? If nomajs can get by wit’out spells and such, then why can’t we?”

“Remember yesterday? When Race accidentally set Jojo’s bed on fire?” Crutchie asks suddenly, causing Jack to look up from his sketch, unsure where his boyfriend is going with this. 

“Yeah…” He says slowly. 

“And no one knew what ta do cuz the fire spread really quickly?” Jack nods again, still confused. “And then Davey said that spell that made water shoot outta his wand? Puttin’ out the fire?”

“What’s ya point, Crutchie?” Jack finally asks. 

“We couldn’ta put out that fire by ourselves, but Davey could cuz he has a wand and went ta school.”

Jack blinks owlishly for a moment before coming to an understanding. “Ya want ta go ta school?”

“Well…” Crutchie looks down, playing with a loose thread on his vest. He  _ does _ want to go to school, he wants to be a ‘proper’ wizard, and cast spells like Davey can… but that’s even more of a pipe dream than Santa Fe. By the time Crutchie saves up enough money for a wand, he’ll be of age, and would therefore have to pay for his classes by himself. He’d never be able to save up enough money. 

Crutchie is so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize that Jack has put his drawing down and crossed the roof to where a couple of chimney pipes sit. Jack pulls the top off of one (a fake one that he hides his money in) and pulls out an old bean can full of coins. 

“This should be enough for a wand.” Jack muses, placing the can in front of Crutchie where the younger boy can see it. Crutchie jumps from shock before looking up. 

_ “Jack!” _ Crutchie pushes the can towards Jack almost desperately. “That’s ya Santa Fe money! I can’t take this!”

“Why not?” Jack asks.

“It’s ya  _ dream!” _

“So my dream waits a few more years.” Jack says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Santa Fe ain’t goin’ nowhere, Crutch. If ya take the money now then ya got ‘least a year a free schoolin’, two if ya can lie ‘boutcha age.” Jack’s expression softens. “C’mon, Crutchie, it doesn’t  _ all _ hafta be ‘bout  _ my _ dreams. I  _ want  _ ta give ya this. Please let me.”

Jack would  _ give up his dream… _ for him. No, not give up,  _ postpone.  _ Jack is right, Santa Fe will still be there in a few more years, but that’s a few more years that Jack has to spend in  _ New York. _ A place he hates. And it’s not even Crutchie’s money, he hadn’t earned it, and he had no right to ask Jack to spend it on him. But to go to school, to be more than he is, he wants it so badly… 

“Shh,” Crutchie even doesn’t realize that he crying until Jack reaches up to wipe his tears away, cupping his face gently. Jack rests his forehead against Crutchie’s. “Ya don’t hafta decide now, ya got time. It’s alright, sunshine, ya got time.”

_ “Jack,” _ Crutchie isn’t even sure what he’s asking for, he just needs  _ something. _

“It’s okay, sunshine, it’s alright.” Jack only pulls his forehead away to press kisses into Crutchie’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose. “Ya don’t hafta decide right now.”

“I’m tired,” Crutchie whispers, a new wave of tears filling his eyes. 

“Let’s go ta bed, alright?” Jack asks gently. “We can talk more ‘bout it in the mornin’ if ya want.”

Crutchie just nods numbly. Jack would postpone his  _ dream _ for  _ Crutchie. _ Crutchie falls asleep with a warm feeling in his chest. Jack chose him. Even though Crutchie never asked the question, Jack still chose him.

_ ‘Tomorrow will be a good day.’ _ He thinks, naively, as sleep takes him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I was going to put this at the end of the last chapter, but it didn’t flow  
So then I was going to put it at the beginning of the next chapter, but it had such a nice cliffhanger that I made it it’s own chapter


	5. If I Can't Count On You Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the strike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been five months since the last update... oops  
I wrote this whole thing MONTHS ago, possibly even before I wrote chapter three, but I was having trouble writing the stuff between chapter 4 and this one, but that's clearly not going to happen, soooo  
I might cover some stuff in flashbacks later, but like, you know more or less what happened

Specs isn’t sure how he ended up in the alley behind the butcher shop two blocks away from newsies’ square, but here he is. One second he’s fighting the bulls with the others in the square, and the next, he’s in a dumpster behind the butcher shop. He briefly considers going back to the square, but he sees Smalls and Buttons running past the alley, away from the square, and decides that going back to the lodging house is his best bet. He can do more good at the lodge, helping whichever boys return, than he can back in the square. 

“Buttons! Smalls!” He calls as he throws the door to the lodge open. Smalls is sitting on the worn out sofa, but he jumps as soon as he sees Specs. There’s no sign of Buttons, but he must here somewhere.

“Specs!” Smalls runs over to embrace the taller boy. “You’se back!”

“Yeah, yeah I am. Where’s Buttons? I saw ya running wit’ ‘im.”

“He went ta go watch the littles so’s Mush can look after the injured.” Smalls explains. 

“Anyone else back yet?” Specs asks, taking in the empty common room. 

“No one else.” Mush answers from the stairs. “Buttons only has bruises, how’s ‘bout you’se two?”

Specs takes a moment to consider himself. “No, I think I’se uninjured.”

“I’se still gotta check on ya, alright?”

Specs nods, sitting in a rickety chair by the fireplace. “Go ahead.”

“Smalls?” Mush asks as he begins examining Specs.

“My arm hurts, but I don’t think it’s broken. I can wait for ya to be done wit’ Specs.”

The three of them sit in silence as Mush works for almost ten minutes before the door is flung open again. It’s Tommy Boy. He’s limping dramatically, and one arm hangs limp and awkwardly at his side, but he’s moving of his own volition, so that’s something. Specs rushes to Tommy Boy’s side, throws Tommy’s uninjured arm over his shoulders, and helps him limp over to the sofa. 

“Jesus H Christ! Tommy! You’se alright?” Smalls exclaims, shifting over to give Mush some room to work. 

“Oh sure. I’se jus’ peachy, that’s why I’se limpin’ around, cuz it’s _fun- in ainm Chríost!”_ Tommy Boy screams as Mush pops his shoulder back into place. “A little _warnin’_ next time, Musher!”

“Yeah well, ya arm’s all fixed up now, so quit complainin’” Mush says as he moves on to look at Tommy Boy’s leg. 

The door opens again, this time it’s Finch and Jojo supporting Kid Blink, who’s bleeding profusely from the head. They’re quickly followed by Race and Sniper, each with their own assortment of bruises. 

“Louis!” Mush yells, abandoning Tommy Boy’s leg in favor of checking on his boyfriend’s head wound. 

“‘M fine, Mushy.” Blink murmurs as Finch and Jojo help him into a chair, Mush hovering around them the entire time. “Jus’ a bump on the head.”

“It’s more than a ‘bump on the head’,” Finch says, sitting in his own chair. “He wasn’t even coherent until about a block ago.”

“Louis, I _swear-“_

“Fine, fine. My head is killin’ me,” Blink cuts of Mush’s rant, pouting. “Please look at it.”

Mush hums in acknowledgment. He pulls some bandages out his pocket and begins to examine Blink’s head. 

“Guess my ankle is fine then.” Tommy Boy mutters, trying to lever himself up from the sofa. 

“No it ain’t, it’s sprained,” Mush calls without taking his eyes off of Blink. “Stay off a it!”

“Yes _ma.”_

“Is this everyone?” Race asks, looking around the room. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Buttons is upstairs wit’ the littles.” Smalls answers. “No one else’s come back.”

“Are ya sure? Maybe I should check-“

“No one leaves this room ‘til I checks ‘em over.” Mush orders. “You’re not goin’ nowhere ‘til I says ya can, Race.”

Race looks ready to argue, but Specs lays a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll look, Mush’s already checked me over.”

“Thanks Specs. Make sure ya check the roof.” Race sinks down onto the floor, as if the responsibility of looking after the boys had been the only thing keeping him upright. 

“Race?” Jojo asks, concerned. 

Race shakes his head, but doesn’t move otherwise. 

Mush continues to look Blink over in silence, and, other than the occasional grumble from Blink, everyone else stays quiet too. They’re all too tired and achy to really talk. Smalls is nearly asleep on the sofa, using Tommy Boy’s good shoulder as a pillow, and in return, Tommy is using Smalls’ head as a pillow. Finch wordlessly takes an unoccupied chair and moves it in front of Tommy Boy so that he can prop is bad leg up, then moves his own chair so that he can prop his own legs up as well. Sniper squeezes himself onto the end of the sofa, next to Smalls, and Jojo sits on the floor in front of him. 

“Okay,” Mush sighs when he finishes up with Blink. “Your turn, Race.”

Race flings an arm over his eyes and shakes his head. “Per favore non toccarmi!”

“Devo solo controllarti per lesioni.” Mush insists quietly. 

“Pista,” Jojo whispers imploringly while the other boys pretend to be focused elsewhere. 

Race shakes his head again “Non toccarmi. Controlla prima gli altri ragazzi.”

“Fine,” Mush sighs, back to using English. “But once I’se checked ‘em, I’se gonna check you whether you’se ready or ya ain’t.”

Race doesn’t answer, and Mush moves on to check on Finch. Finch is grumbling about Mush poking at his bruises when Specs comes back down the stairs. 

“No one else’s here, Buttons seems ta have a handle on the littles, and the second bunk room is empty if anyone needs it.” He reports. 

“How’s Buttons?” Mush asks without looking up from where he’s wrapping a cut on Finch’s side. 

“He says he’s doin’ better.” Specs answers sitting in a vacant chair next to Blink.

“Louis, you should go rest.” Mush finishes up with Finch and moves on to Jojo. “All of you should go rest.”

“I think Smalls is already asleep.” Tommy Boy shrugs his shoulder, but Smalls doesn’t react, his head just moves along with Tommy.

“I’ll take ‘im upstairs.” Specs gently eases Smalls into his arms and carries the smaller boy to bed.

“Blink, ya should go too,” Mush insists again. “Your head will feel better tomorrow.”

Blink shakes his head. “I’ll stay here ‘til you’se done.”

Mush looks like he’s about to argue more, but the door opens again. This time it’s Mike and Ike supporting and unconscious Henry between them. 

“Make room!” One of them yells. 

“He’s hurt real-“

“-Bad and he-“

“-Ain’t woken up since we-“

“-Left the square!”

“And he’s heavy!” The twins carry Henry towards the sofa. 

Sniper, Jojo, and Mush all back away from so that the twins can lay Henry down on the sofa. Finch helps Tommy Boy up so that the sofa is completely vacant, then proceeds to drag the shorter boy up the stairs so that he can rest, and to tell Specs about the three arrivals. 

_“Cristo.”_ Mush breaths out as he immediately begins working on Henry. 

“Are you’se two okay?” Race actually sits up, panic postponed in favor of checking on his boys. 

“As okay as we-“

“-can be I suppose.” The twins collapse against a wall, pulling each other as close as they can. “The bulls almost got-“

“-Us on our way out, but-“

“-We must have involuntarily apparated-“

“-Because one minute a bull-“

“-Was ‘bout ta beat Mike over the head-“

“-And the next second-“

“-We’se outside a Medda’s-“

“-Theater!”

“I think the same thing happened to me,” Specs says as he enters the room. “One second I was in the square, and the next thing I know I’m behind the butcher’s.”

“Maybe that’s what happened ta the others.” Race mutters, mostly to himself. “Only they’se endin’ up farther away.”

“Who’s still missin’?” Mike asks. 

“We don’t know where Jack, Crutchie, Albert, Elmer, and Romeo ta name a few,” Jojo answers. “Hopefully Davey and Les went home, but we can’t be sure.”

“...Should we check on ‘em?” Ike asks hesitatingly. Race shakes his head. 

“If they don’t meet us at Jacobi’s tomorrow then we’ll go lookin’ for ‘em, but for tonight, everyone needs ta rest.” Everyone nods in agreement and the room falls silent. 

When Mush finishes with Henry he goes back to Jojo. Once Jojo is cleared, he and Specs carry Henry upstairs, mindful of his injuries. Boys continue to trickle in, and Mush continues to check on them, until he’s only got Race left to look at. 

Race allows Mush to examine him, keeping his focus on anything except the boy touching him. There isn’t much to pay attention to, by now everyone except himself, Mush, Blink, and Jojo have gone upstairs to either rest, or to entertain the littles. It isn’t until Mush has finished with Race that anyone talks. 

“What do we do now?” Without anyone else to look after, Mush has time to actually consider the repercussions of today’s events, and they aren’t looking great. 

“We do what we had planned ta do.” Race says with conviction. “We rest tonight, then tomorrow we meet at Jacobi’s.”

“And if Jack’s been taken ta the Refuge?” Jojo asks quietly. 

“Then I’se in charge!” Race yells, the pressure of being leader is _already _getting to him, and they don’t even know if Jack is coming back or not yet. 

“Okay.” Mush whispers. “Jojo, help me get Blink upstairs, would ya?”

Jojo nods as Blink complains loudly. “I don’t need ta be mothered! I can get meself upstairs.”

“I’m too tired to argue, Louis.” Mush sighs. “Just let us help you.”

All the fight leaves Blink and he just nods. Jojo and Mush carry Blink upstairs, leaving Race alone in the common room. 

It’s dark in the room, the sun had set a while ago and the only light illuminating the common room comes from the streetlights outside. Race brings his knees up to his chest and just sits in the middle of the floor. He isn’t sure when he started crying, but eventually he becomes aware of the wet spots on his knees from where his face had been pressed against them. He can’t lead. He doesn’t know what to do without Jack here. And without Albert, Crutchie, or Elmer around… he hasn’t felt this alone since the tenement that his family had lived in burned down, leaving him the sole survivor of the blaze. 

Race can tell that someone’s coming by the creaking of the floorboards, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Pista?” Someone calls quietly. 

Jojo. He’s still got Jojo. And Specs, and Mush, and Buttons, and the rest. He’s not totally alone this time. 

“I’m okay, Jo.” Race wipes the tears from his eyes. “I’se gonna be okay.”

Jojo sits next to him on the floor. Close, but not quite touching, for which Race is grateful. He likes Jojo, he does, but when he feels lost like this, there’s only four people he will allow to touch him, and Jojo isn’t one of them. Three of them are missing, and one is in Brooklyn, probably living like he always has, uncaring that Race probably lost a significant chunk of his family. 

“It’s alright, ya know,” Jojo says quietly. “Ta not be okay. ‘Specially after what happened today. No one expects ya ta be okay.”

Race shakes his head. Jojo doesn’t understand, Jojo doesn’t have to _lead,_ doesn’t have to have the weight of all the boys resting on his shoulders. Race understands why Spot hadn’t joined the strike, he has to protect his own boys, make decisions that will benefit _them,_ not anyone else, not even himself. And Race isn’t sure where Jack found the strength to lead his boys in battle, but he’s sure he’ll have to figure it out soon, because he sure as _hell_ isn't going to let his brothers rot in the Refuge without finishing this fight. 

“Ya lose ya cigar?” Jojo asks, changing the subject. 

Race brings an empty hand to his mouth. He hadn’t realized that he had lost his cigar, but he must have as both of his hands _and _his mouth are free of cigars, pens, or pencils. 

“Guess so,” Race mutters. “I’d say I’ll just lift one from Weasel tomorrow, but I doubt we’ll be seein’ ‘im.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” Jojo agrees. “But I bet Al’s keepin’ spares under his bed.”

“Why would he do that?” Race asks. “He don’t smoke.”

“Nah, but he keeps ‘em for you, dumbass”

Jojo’s right, Albert probably _does_ have spare cigars under his bed, just for Race. Race starts crying again, but this time he leans into Jojo, needing the support of anyone right now. Jojo wraps his arms around Race. Tomorrow, Race will be ready to lead, but tonight? He doesn’t need to be strong tonight. 

The door opens and Race immediately pulls out of the hug, hoping that he’ll find Jack or Albert in the doorway. 

Instead, he finds a shivering Elmer. 

“Elmer!” Race jumps up and rushes to the younger boy’s side. “Jojo, go get Mush and Buttons.”

Jojo jumped up and ran up the stairs before Race had even finished his command. 

“I have- I need- I have-“ Elmer starts several times, seemingly unable to finish his thought. “I- Crutchie and- I have ta-“

“It’s okay, El,” Race shushes, guiding Elmer to the sofa and sitting next to him. “Mush is gonna look after ya and it’ll be ok.”

Elmer shakes his head urgently. 

_“Crutchie,”_ he insists again, still unable to finish his thought. 

“It’s okay, El-“

“Elly!” Buttons yells as he reaches the bottoms of the stairs. Buttons rushes to sit on Elmer’s other side, taking his boyfriend’s hand in his own, squeezing tightly. 

“Alright, Elmer,” Mush comes down the stairs slightly slower, but still with a sense of urgency. Jojo is behind him, cigar in hand, he has a feeling Race is going to need it. 

_“No!”_ Elmer insists again. _“Crutchie!”_

“What about Crutchie, Elly?” Buttons asks softly. 

“He’s… somewhere! He’s-“ Elmer grabs at his curls in frustration, incapable of remembering where Crutchie is. 

“It’s okay, El.” Race gently pries Elmer’s hand out of his hair. “Let Mush look ya over, then we’ll figure out where Crutchie is.”

“It’s _bad!”_ Elmer insists, letting go of his hair. “Crutchie’s _somewhere_ and it’s _bad!”_

Race’s blood runs cold, and he can see Buttons, Mush, and Jojo freeze similarly. 

“Is Crutchie in the Refuge, El?” Race asks quietly, dreading the answer. 

“Yes. Yes! Yeah! That’s the place!” Elmer almost grins at remembering where Crutchie is, but he also remembers that that’s _bad._ The Refuge is _bad._

“You’re sure?” Mush asks as he continues cleaning Elmer’s head wound. 

Elmer nods. “He was screamin’ and yellin’ for Jack ta help ‘im, ‘cept Jack weren’t there cuz the man was there!”

“Snyder.” Buttons whispers, and Elmer nods, tears springing in his eyes. 

“Crutchie’s in the Refuge.” Elmer whispers. 

“Jack’s gotta be heartbroken.” Jojo says, mostly to himself. 

Race is off the sofa and out the door before anyone can stop him, not even noticing that he’s snatched the cigar from Jojo on his way.

Crutchie’s in the Refuge. 

_Crutchie _is in the _Refuge._

Crutchie’s never _been_ in the Refuge before, he doesn’t _know_ what happens there. Sure, Crutchie’s probably heard stories, but he’s never actually experienced it. Race would never wish the Refuge on his worst enemies - if someone had ever told Race that the Delanceys were in the Refuge then Race would feel _bad_ for them. No one deserved that place. 

Even the Delanceys. 

And especially not Crutchie.

Sweet, innocent Crutchie didn’t deserve to know what the cruciatus curse felt like. He didn’t deserve to know the pain, or the hunger, or the _rats. _

Race isn’t sure where he ends up, or how he had ended up hunched over, or even how long he had been there, but when someone lays a hand on his shoulder, he _is_ sure that it’s one of his favorite people. A wave of ease rolls over him originating from the hand on his shoulder. It doesn’t eliminate the worry, or the ache from his bruises, but it slows his mind to a tolerable speed, and it feels like a balm on his soul. 

_“Spot,” _Race whispers pleadingly, though he’s not sure what he’s asking for, as he launches himself into Spot’s arms. 

“Hey, Racer,” Spot’s thick Brooklyn accent is almost as much of a balm as his hand. “It’s okay, I’se gottcha.”

“How’d ya find me?” Race mumbles, burying his face in the shorter boy’s shoulder. 

“I’se comin’ ovah ta talk ta Kelly when I see’s ya runnin’ away.”

“Crutchie’s in the Refuge,” Race whispers urgently into Spot’s shoulder, the calmness is wearing off and panic is returning. “Crutchie’s in the Refuge, and Jack is gone off ta who knows where, and Albie isn’t-“

Race’s voice breaks so badly he can’t continue, and instead just sobs into Spot’s shoulder. Spot wraps both arms around Race, trying to project as much calmness as he can into the taller boy. 

“It’s okay, Racer. Ev’rythin’ is gonna be fine.” Spot reassures, much more gently than anyone would think possible if they weren’t close to him. 

Race shakes his head, pulling back from the embrace just enough to be able to look Spot in the eye. “We _failed,_ Spot.”

“Did the wagons go out ta the rest a da city?” Spot asks. Race shakes his head again. “Then ya did exac’ly whatcha said ya’d do, that ain’t failin’. How many kids ya lose?”

“Crutchie’s in the Refuge,” Race repeats, but the calming influence of Spot’s touch is definitely working. “Don’t know where Jack went, but if he knows ‘bout Crutchie then he’s off somewhere, blamin’ himself.”

“An’ Albert?” Spot prompts. 

“We don’t know what happened ta ‘im.” Race confesses. “Him or Romeo. They ain’t turned up yet.”

“Then there’s still hope.” Spot says sagely before pulling Race to his feet. “C’mon, let’s getcha back ya your boys, they’ll pro’ly be worrin’ ‘boutcha.”

“Did I make it all the way ta Brooklyn?” Race asks, looking around. 

“Nah,” Spot says. “Ya made it ‘bout a block. Look, Racer, ya did what I asked, ya proved you’se serious ‘bout this strike thing. I came ta ‘Hattan ta tell Jackie that at the next event… at the next event, you’se can be countin’ on Brooklyn.”

“Thanks, Spotty.” Spot nods then spits into his hand, Race returns the gesture and the deal is sealed. Brooklyn is officially in on the strike. 

Spot leads Race out of the alley and back to the street where Race can see that he did indeed make it about a block away from the lodging house. 

“Hey, ain’t that Albert?” Spot points up the street where a hunched figure can be seen, limping in the direction of the lodging house. The street lights faintly reflect off of his red hair. 

_“Albie,”_ Race breaths out, barely a whisper, before shouting “ALBIE!”

Just as Race calls to him, the figure falls over. Race and Spot run over to the figure, and sure enough, it’s Albert. Not only is Albert lying on the ground, but Romeo of lying on his back. 

“Albie!” Race whispers again, kneeling by his best friend. 

“Tonio?” Albert asks, clearly dazed, but still conscious. 

“Yeah, yeah Al, it’s me.” Race runs a hand gently through Albert’s hair. 

“Can ya carry ‘im?” Spot asks as he lifts Romeo into his arms. 

“Yeah, I got ‘im.” Race assures. “Take Romeo inside, makes sure Mush sees ‘im.”

Spot nods and carries Romeo towards the lodge, leaving Race to try to lever Albert into standing alone. It’s easier said than done when Albert has gone completely limp. 

“Cristo, Al, can’t ya help a fella out?” Race grunts. 

Albert just smiles at him dopily. “Opa! Tonio! Você está sempre tão bonita.”

“Alright Al, alright.” Race finally gets Albert up with an arm over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s getcha inside.”

By the time Race gets Albert into the lodging house, Romeo has been laid on the sofa with Mush is looking over him, Specs is leaning over the back of the sofa so he can see Romeo, Jojo is sitting off to the side, and Spot is nowhere to be seen. Jojo springs up when he sees Race and rushes over to help him with Albert. 

“‘S Jojo!” Albert grins as they lower him into a chair. 

“Jesus, Al!” Exclaims Jojo. “Where ya been?”

“I accident’ly apparated ta Flushin’s,” Albert slurs. “An’ I had ya walk all the ways back ‘ere.”

“Where’d ya find Romeo?” Specs asks. 

“Rome- Oh! I dunno.” Albert’s eyes slip shut. “Can’t remem’er.”

“No sleeping!” Mush scolds. “Race, keep him awake until I check him for a concussion!”

“Hey, Albie,” Race shakes Albert’s shoulder gently until the ginger opens his eyes again. “You ain’t ‘lowed ta sleep ‘til Musher looks atcha, a’ight?”

“Hmm, you’se real pretty, Tones,” Albert slurs. “Ya know that?”

“Alright, Albie.” Race agrees breezily, ignoring the way his chest tightens at Albert’s words. Albert hums and burrows his face into Race’s chest. “No sleepin’.”

“Ain’t sleepin’.” Albert mutters. 

“Alright, Specs, can you take Romeo ta bed and watch him for the night? I think he’ll be okay, but he might be a little out of it when he wakes up.” Mush orders. Specs takes Romeo upstairs, and Race and Jojo move Albert over to the sofa. “Now let’s see what wrong wit’ you, huh Al?”

“The room is spinnin’,” Albert tells him. Mush frowns. 

“Jo, can ya go get Al a glass a water?” Jojo leaves the room and Mush turns his attention back towards his patient. “That’s a nasty cut on ya arm there, Al. Been bleedin’ a while?”

“Don’t remember,” Albert answers again. “Maybe.”

“We got any food lyin’ ‘round, Race?” Mush asks while cleaning the blood from Albert’s arm the best he can. 

“I dunno, maybe some cookies or crackers in the kitchen?” Race offers. Mush nods. 

“Can ya get those for me? I think Al’s gonna need somethin’ after walkin’ here from Queens wit’ Romeo on ‘is back.” Race nods and heads for the kitchen, passing Jojo on his way back with a glass. Jojo smiles at him, and Race actually finds the strength to smile back. 

Once he’s alone in the kitchen, Race takes a moment to compose himself. Almost everyone is back and relatively unharmed. Sure, Crutchie is in the Refuge, and sure, Jack is gone to who-knows-where, but everyone else made it back in one piece. They took on a giant and they made it back home. What more could they ask for?

_‘Jack and Crutchie.’_ Whispers the little voice inside Race’s head. Race shakes his head, trying to ignore the thought, they did pretty well for themselves. _‘But not as well as you could have.’_

Race hunches over the sink, hands grasping the edge so hard that his knuckles turn white. _‘Not again,’ _he thinks as the panic begins to set in again. Spot isn’t here this time to bring him out of it, and neither are Jack or Crutchie, and Albert wouldn’t be of much help in his current state. Race is going to have to talk himself down from this one on his own… 

By the time Race returns to the common room, face slightly blotchier than it had been when he left, Mush is done checking over Albert, and Jojo is gone. 

“He’ll be okay,” Mush tells him quietly. “His ankle has a minor sprain, and I’m sure walkin’ all the way here didn’t do him any good, but he’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Thanks Mush.” This has been the longest day Race has ever endured, but as long as Albert was here and okay then Race will make it through. 

Mush nods and heads towards the stairs. “‘Night, Racer.”

Race collapses on the sofa next to Albert, handing him the stale cookies. Albert murmurs a quiet thanks and begins picking at a cookie. 

“How’re ya feelin’?” Race asks. 

“Better since Mush looked at me,” Albert replies. “Look, Race, ‘m sorry that I said you was pretty, I was kinda outta it a minute ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t think I’m pretty?” Race teases, once again ignoring the painful tightening on his chest 

“I always think you’re pretty.” Albert whispers, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh…” Race opens his mouth to say more, but Spot Conlon picks that second to come back down the stairs. “Spot! I thought you’da left by now.”

Race doesn’t miss the way Albert ducks his head and focuses wholly on the package of cookies in his hands. 

“I’se jus’ checkin’ on ya boys upstairs,” Spot tells him. “Lotsa ya kids havin’ nightmares.”

Race nods. “Yeah, I’ll bet. After the day we had… it ain’t gonna be a good night.”

“Yeah, well I’se got some a ‘em sleepin’ well.” Spot mutters. 

“Aww, Spotty! You’se comfortin’ my boys?” Race teases. This is good, this feels normal. 

“You tell anyone and Jackie boy is gonna have ta find a new second-in-command.” Spot threats, but Race knows that it’s an empty threat. “I’se leavin’ now.”

“Back ta Brooklyn?” Race asks. 

“Nah,” Spot waves dismissively. “I’se gonna go find Kelly.”

“I should come wit’ ya!” Race tries to get off the sofa, only to realize that he was impossibly sore all over, and had just been running on adrenaline and anxiety since this morning. Race falls back onto the sofa with a groan. Albert glances at him, though he still doesn’t lift his head, and Spot shoots him a sarcastic look. 

“Ya should be _restin’, _Racer. I can find Kelly on my own.”

_“Fine,”_ Race sighs dramatically, throwing his arm over Albert’s shoulders. “I’ll _rest,_ but if ya find Jack, make sure ta send ‘im back here.”

“Will do.” Spot salutes. “Night, Racer.”

“Night, Spotty.” 

As soon as Spot leaves, Race buries his face in Albert’s shoulder with a groan. Albert responds by gingerly wrapping his arm around the taller boy’s shoulders. 

“Jack’ll be fine.” Race mutters to himself.

“‘Course he’ll be fine.” Albert replies anyway, rubbing his hand along Race’s arm in a comforting manner. “He jus’ needs time ta think, ‘s all.”

“That’ll take a while.” Race tries to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat. 

They sit there for a while longer, to the point that Albert is almost asleep, when Race sees a figure sneaking down the stairs. 

“Specs!” He whisper-yells, trying not to disturb anyone upstairs. He does startle Albert awake, and cause the Specs to jump though. “Where d’ya think you’re goin’?”

“Um…” Specs rubs the back of his neck, looking guilty, clearly not expecting Race and Albert to still be up. “I’se plannin’ on goin’ ta see Crutchie.”

_“Specs!”_

“I’ll be _careful,_ Race,” Specs raises his hand in a placating manner. “Snyder won’t even know I’m there.”

Race and Specs have an intense stare down until Race finally concedes. 

“Fine, but if you don’t make it back then Romeo will probably cry.”

Specs looks guilty for a moment before his resolve hardens. He’s going to at least make sure Crutchie is alive. “I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, Specs is out the door. Race sighs and shakes off any ideas of sleep, there’s no way he could sleep well until Specs returned. 

“You’se gonna wait for him, ain’tcha?” Albert asks after a moment. 

“Yeah.”

“It’s late, Tonio. Maybe you should get some sleep.” Race just shakes his head. 

“I’ve ain’t gonna be able ta sleep ‘til Specs’s back anyways.” He explains. “Besides, it’s not like we gotta work tomorrow.”

By the look of surprise on his face, Race would guess that Albert hadn’t thought about that. 

“Go ta bed, Al. Ya need ta rest.”

But Albert shakes his head stubbornly. “If you’se stayin’ up then I’m stayin’ up.”

Race doesn’t argue. Albert’s eyelids are already drooping, and Race doubts he’ll make it even five more minutes. 

Sure enough, an hour later, when Specs finally returns, Albert is fast asleep, draped across Race’s lap. Jack still hasn’t returned, but Race hadn’t expected him to. He needs time. 

Specs reports that he saw Crutchie, confirming that the crippled boy is alive, with only minor injuries, then helps Race carry Albert up the stairs. The redhead wakes slightly, but not enough to actually be helpful. 

Once Race is safely in bed (it’s Albert’s bed, but after the stress of the day, Race really shouldn’t be sleeping by himself, and it’s not like Albert will mind) he lets the exhaustion of the day take over, and he’s asleep in seconds, cuddled up next to his best friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations (from google translate)  
Tommy Boy: "In the name of Christ!" (Irish)  
Race: "Please don’t touch me!" (Italian)  
Mush: "I just need to check you for injuries."  
Jojo: "Racetrack," ('pista' was an alternate translation of 'track' that I though looked like it could be used as a name)  
Race: "Don’t touch me. Check the other fellas first."  
Jojo: "Racetrack?"  
Race: "Christ."  
Albert: "Hey! Tonio! You’re always so pretty." (Portuguese)


End file.
